Someone for Me

by Addison Moore

  Crap.

  I just stare at him a very long time.

  “Look”—he digs his palm into his eye as if talking to an idiot like me is an exhausting effort, and it probably is—“I get it. You’re crazy about her. And trust me, I’d rather have it that way than you being some indifferent asshole. But when you put her in that position, you’re still sort of being . . . an indifferent asshole.” He sighs with exasperation. “I want you to love my sister—just not in public, or in other people’s bedrooms, or closets, or any other nooks and crannies I don’t even want to think about. I’m not asking you to keep it in your pants. I’m asking you to keep my sister safe—be responsible. Keep it in the bedroom. Got it? Stop being such an ass and love her sweetly—like a real man, not some perv.” He gets up and stalks out of the room.

  Keep his sister safe. Something about his please-keep-my-sister-out-of-prison speech hits home with me. What if it were “Professor Kurt” who had done all those things with Molly? I’d knock some teeth out and save the speech for later. Looks like Morgan let me off easy, seeing as my balls are still intact. Maybe I’m not treating Kenny as well as I should be. Maybe the last thing I need to be doing with Kenny is having outlandish sex with her every chance I get. I think I’ll take things down a notch. I think I’ll stick to making love to Kenny right there in the confines of our bedroom like Morgan suggested. And, ironically, that turns me on even more than thoughts of swinging with her on perverse toys in my grandfather’s old bedroom. I shudder at the imagery.

  Morgan was right.

  I need to love her sweetly.

  That night I make an all-you-can-eat spaghetti dinner with meatballs the size of oranges and garlic bread guaranteed to linger on your breath for days. I break out a bottle of two-buck Chuck, and Kenny and I enjoy the hell out of ourselves on a meal that cost less in total than a single appetizer at the Della Arm-and-a-Leg Argento.

  “Too bad Molly missed out,” Kenny says, leaning in. Her cleavage bows into me, practically begging for a kiss. But she doesn’t look sorry at all about Molly’s absence, and right about now neither am I. “You, my love, are a five-star chef. How ever will I repay you for this meal?” She bats her lashes at me, and my dick comes up with an entire roster of suggestions she could systematically check off.

  The old me would have raked off the table and had her on her back in less than three seconds, risking the possibility that Molly might come home early after being molested by her English professor. But the new me, the one my dick is not so fond of at the moment, has paused and is regrouping to figure out how best to lure her to the bedroom.

  “Wanna fuck?”

  “Oh . . .” She laughs darkly. Kenny pushes the dishes to the far end of the table and hops on as if she’s read my mind. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  I shake my head just barely. Poor thing. I’ve practically trained her like a circus poodle to go to the most perverse plausible option. I’ll have to sexually reprogram her to be loved and cared for like the sweet woman she is.

  “Come here.” I pull her up and wrap my arms around her waist. “You’re the love of my life, you know that?” I walk her backward toward the bedroom and plant a kiss on her lips.

  “And you’re the love of my life.” She nods, edging me back toward the table.

  “And, I think we should share our appreciation for each other right this minute.” My hard-on is about to bypass any altruistic motives my heart might have, and I want to bend her over before we get to either the bedroom or the table. “Let’s get to bed.”

  “‘Bed’? What’s the matter?” She looks genuinely concerned, like maybe a medical issue might be at the heart of my mattress motives.

  “No.” I hold back the urge to laugh. “I want to make love to you. In our room, on our bed.” I give a gentle tug down the hall, but she’s rooted her feet to the floor.

  “Well, I don’t want you to ‘make love’ to me.” She gives me a hard tug in the opposite direction. “I want you to fuck me on the table like a man!”

  Good God, I’ve ruined her. I close my eyes for a moment, just this side of despondent.

  I bring her hand to my lips and lay a gentle kiss over the back of it. It’s becoming pretty clear just how much perverted damage I’ve caused. Poor Kenny doesn’t think she’s worthy of being made love to behind closed doors and in a bed, of all places. I’ve warped her image of sex so that it’s become some near-violent act that ends with weaponry pointed at our naked bodies while she vomits her brains out.

  She folds into my chest. “You want to make love to me?” She says it almost disbelieving.

  “Just as much as you want to fuck me,” I tease.

  She glances down as if truly disappointed. “Okay, but just this once.”

  My heart drops like a stone because every part of me wants to make love to Kenny over and over again, and never “just this once.”

  “I’m all yours.” I reel her into me and brush my lips over hers. Kenny comes at me hungry, like she’s never tasted my kisses before. Her tongue lashes over mine like a punishment as she devours me from the inside out. I pull her back gently until we’re safely tucked away in the confines of our bedroom, then turn out the light.

  Kenny rips off her clothes like they’re on fire, and I can’t help feeling bad, like I’ve sent her the message that every time she’s with me it’s a near assault. I am, after all, her first, her only. I have a responsibility to shower her with affection, but I’ve spent the better part of the past year taking her like a frat boy every chance I got.

  I peel off my clothes and bring her heated body over mine. Kenny is smooth as velvet against my skin, like something precious to be cherished, not an object to be tied down with leather and chains and spun into stomach-churning oblivion.

  My mouth finds hers once again, and we indulge in a lingual exchange that spans a small eternity as we stand there in the dark, in the confines of our own bedroom, and it feels far more erotic than the broom closet of some restaurant—or her own brother’s closet.

  Kenny runs her warm hands down my back and drips down to my thighs before rounding to the front and taking me in her hands. I walk her back and lay her gently on the mattress, trailing kisses from her neck to her chest, down to her smooth, soft belly. I rub my face over her stomach and indulge in the simple act of loving her in this innocent way. There are so many new ways to love Kenny that feel satisfying, though just a week ago I would have brushed them all off as juvenile.

  The nightstand drawer opens and closes, and Kenny tosses down what sounds like jewelry, but it’s the chains we’ve used from time to time. I pick them up and gently lay them on the floor, far away from our tender moment.

  “Excuse me.” She balks at how quickly I’ve dismissed them. “That was a hint, by the way.” She rubs her foot over my back, and I’m half-tempted to hog-tie her in less than three seconds, just the way she likes it.

  “Maybe not tonight.” I press my lips into her belly button and Kenny quivers beneath me.

  “Um”—she clears her throat—“there’s a can of whipped cream in the refrigerator, the new chocolate kind. Would you like me to get it?”

  Chains? Whipped cream? Poor Kenny doesn’t even know that sex without some added prop is possible.

  “No, I think we’ve got this handled.” I dip my tongue into her belly button and start in on a slow rotating circle until a groan wrenches from her.

  “Oh yes, right there.” A string of giggles reverberates through her body, and a smile sails to my lips at the innocent and yet soulful seduction of Kenny. I trail lower, creating an S over her skin with my tongue before pressing her knees back and settling her legs over my shoulders. My mouth finds its way to her wet slick, and I indulge in a kiss that rivals any I’ve ever given her before.

  “You taste damn sweet, Kenny. You’re all I need.” I run my fingers over her stomach until she catches my hand and kisses it.

  I love Kenny in that same sweet way, all night long.

&nb
sp; 7

  DRESS TO IMPRESS

  Kendall

  Weeks slide by. For starters, Aunt Flow made her monthly debut and did her best to kick the storyline back a notch, but, thankfully, the Penny Whoredon in me rose to the occasion and turned her appearance into a fellatio funfest for all. Needless to say, Cruz Belton was more than pleased, or should I say pleasured? Anyhoo, Lauren and Ally are picking me up so we can all go to Lauren’s fitting together. Everything is falling into place for her dream wedding, though mine is sort of falling apart at the seams and frothing at the mouth, just seizing and begging to be put out of its misery. The courthouse should have a sign over it that reads: “Abandon all hope ye who want a dream wedding.” Not that I was dreaming of much to begin with—just a beautiful dress and the chapel at Garrison.

  Lauren pulls up in a brand-new silver Range Rover, and I’m quick to hop into the back. The butter-soft leather gives off that magical scent that only new cars know how to expel, and I relax into it.

  “God, this smells like heaven!” I take in a lungful of that fresh-from-the-factory deliciousness as Ally turns back to look at me and rolls her eyes.

  “You’ve just inhaled every chemical known to man, plus the dead flesh of some unsuspecting bovine. If I were you I’d stick my head out the window before I ended up with mad chemical cow disease.”

  I roll down the window and buckle up as Lauren pulls onto the highway.

  “We need to discuss business.” Lauren glances at me briefly in the rearview mirror. She’s got her hair back in a chignon, with a silk scarf tied around her neck. She’s wearing big Jackie O sunglasses. Hanging out with Lauren is like living in the glossy pages of an expensive magazine, and in this case, it’s one of those oversized, heavy as a brick bridal varieties that, ironically, I’m always trying to figure out how to crawl into.

  “Business?”

  “The Naughty Professor had another record-breaking week. I’m close to getting every sorority in the country to sign on for the subscription. I’m telling you—you’ve got one hell of a pornographic hit on your hands.”

  Ally nudges her. “Tell her about the—” We pass a construction crew jackhammering on the side of the road, and I miss the last crucial part of her plea.

  “Tell me about the what?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” Lauren shakes her head in that aggressive way that lets me know it very well is something.

  “Spill, Ashby, or I’ll be the last to tell you the truth at the fitting.” I know for a fact it’s down to three dresses, and Lauren and her mother are deadlocked. She’s totally relying on Ally and me to secretly side with her, only she won’t tell us which dress is her fave.

  Lauren’s eyes enlarge for a second. “I—” She closes her mouth and shakes her head just enough to let me know she’s having a silent argument with herself. “Oh yes, there was one thing. The chapter you sent me last night? What the hell is up with that?”

  I sink in my seat a little because I know exactly what she means. “You didn’t like it?”

  “Like it? It put both me and my vibrator to sleep. Where’s the passion? Where’s the sex swing? Bring back the belt, for God’s sake, and spank that man’s ass. We’re going to lose the attention of all these sex-starved girls. We simply can’t use it.”

  Crap. She’s right.

  “I don’t know what’s happened.” I throw up my hands, at a loss as to what went wrong. “I mean, I’d like to blame it all on Molly moving in, but the first few chapters took place while she was there. It’s like Cruise just turned off one night and it hasn’t been the same since.”

  Ally gasps as she spins toward me. “Has he stopped sleeping with you? I mean sleeping, sleeping.”

  “No, no, nothing like that. We still, you know, and quite nicely. In fact, I guess in that respect it’s been better than ever. It’s just everything is taking place behind closed doors, our bedroom door to be precise, and it’s not like him. Not to mention the fact I’ve offered an array of battery-operated, latex-loving, intended-to-inflict-some-serious-punishment apparatus to him, and each time he’s gently refused.”

  “Oh no.” Lauren slams her hand on the steering wheel. “No, no, no!” She moans as if she knows exactly what’s gone wrong.

  “What?” I grip her shoulder. “What is it?”

  “The boring bomb went off way too early in your relationship. I mean, you haven’t even gotten to your wedding night and he’s already trimmed the party favors. He’s traded in the great outdoors and settled for a quick romp on the mattress before bedtime. The next thing you know he’ll be asleep before you ever hit the sheets, and you’ll have to slap his dick silly if you even want to think of getting any action.” She sighs hard, as if she’s speaking from experience—and knowing Cal, she is. “This isn’t going to work. I’ll need all of chapter four rewritten before Tuesday.”

  “What’ll I say?” Crap. My entire body tenses up at the thought of letting down countless sex-starved sorority girls, and it’s all boring Cruz Belton’s fault.

  “Draw on the past. Certainly you had insane sex with Cruise all over campus. Rumor has it security has replayed some of that footage on a loop.”

  “Oh.” I perk up at the thought. That’s right. Cruise and I inventoried all the hot spots around campus with our bodies. One particular day in his classroom comes back to me, and I flood with heat. God, I wish he were here to relieve a little of the tension.

  “Not to mention”—Ally twists her head back like an owl, her Exorcist-like skills freaking me out a little—“have you tried to lure him out of the cabin? I bet it really is Molly that’s toning down your thigh-slapping shenanigans. I’m telling you, Morgan couldn’t get past listening to you pant your way into sexual oblivion.”

  Just the thought of my brother listening, even if was accidental, makes my skin crawl.

  “That’s a great idea.” Lauren bobs with approval as we pull into the strip mall that contains both Cruise’s mother’s hair salon and the bridal shop. “Plan out about six great adventures. Ally and I will help you think up some really steamy scenes. That ought to help give Cruise his groove back.”

  “Yeah,” Ally agrees. “It’s not like he’s suddenly uninterested. He’s totally still into you, I can tell.”

  A sinking feeling settles in my chest as we park and head out.

  God, I hope Cruise Elton is still “into” me. The alternative is too tragic to even think about.

  We head into the expansive bridal salon, which takes up most of the strip mall. The interior is done up with sparkling white granite, and pearlescent stone flooring expands at our feet. Mirrors are set everywhere you look and oversized marble statues dot the area, wearing the creamiest, most scrumptious-looking wedding gowns you could ever lay your eyes on.

  Then I see it. An entire Hallelujah Chorus breaks out in the heavens, and the whole store seems to dim as the white-hot spotlight of God shines over my perfect Vera.

  “My dream dress,” I whisper as I feel its magnetic pull and walk over. Its miles of satin and lace have cast their spell on me, and the only thing that can break it is love’s true kiss—but Cruise isn’t here to give it to me, so I suppose it’s safe to say they’ll need security to remove me from the premises. Then Lauren locks her arm through mine and spins me in the opposite direction.

  A tall, pencil-thin girl with thigh-high boots, a bustier, and skinny jeans escorts us to an oversized room with a series of pincushion sofas.

  “My name is Ella. I’ll be your fitting consultant for the afternoon.” She punctuates her statement with a giggle. “The champagne will be here shortly—make yourselves at home.” A string of titters unleashes from her, and I’m only one chortle away from questioning her sanity.

  I glance around at the cavernous room filled with opulent furniture and people clustered on small sofas, but not a mannequin in sight.

  “God, where are all the dresses?” I want to run up and down the aisles and try each one on, just like when I was a little girl and
played dress-up in my mother’s closet. And sadly, yes, my mother’s closet was bustling with wedding gowns.

  “Oh, they’re in the back.” Lauren flicks her wrist. “They would never let you see them all—it would be too overwhelming. You simply describe your dream design and they bring you a limited selection to choose from.”

  “Really?” Ally doesn’t look convinced as she takes a seat. “I’d probably want to try them all on just to be sure. I mean, most wedding dresses cost more than some new cars. It sounds ridiculous to let someone else decide.”

  “It’s not ridiculous.” Lauren refutes Ally’s logical theory. “They’re thinking with a clear head. You, on the other hand, would be thinking with emotion.”

  “I can’t think of a more emotional event than a wedding.” I whisper it so softly I hardly hear the words myself.

  “Hey, hey, the gang’s all here.” Blair pops up like a demonic apparition, effectively sucking the joy right out of the room.

  “What do you want?” Ally crops up beside me. Blair has pissed the two of us off enough to last a lifetime. It’s hard to believe she was once friends with Lauren and Ally. Well, mostly with Lauren.

  Blair flips back her brassy blonde hair, exposing the fact she’s in desperate need of a touch-up, and too bad she can’t touch up her personality.

  “I’m picking up my dress.” She darts a look at Lauren. “I saw your name on the roster, and I thought I’d come by to say hello. Really, Lauren, you’re cutting it down to the wire. To not have a dress this close to the wedding, you might as well give up.”

  A knot builds in my throat. I don’t have a dress, so should I give up?

  “And how is your wedding coming along?” Blair steps over to me. You could cut glass with that sharpened look of hatred in her eyes.

  “What did I ever do to you, Blair?” Honestly, I’d like to know.

  “You did something I could never do.” She glances down for a moment. “You stole my boyfriend’s heart.” Her voice grows small, and for the love of all the fictitious drama in the world, I swear she’s harnessed the ability to manufacture tears.