My Beautiful Poison (Wicked Poison Book 1)

by T. L Smith

  I have to do my best not to stare at them while imagining those hands roaming every inch of my body.

  “Why do you stay? I mean, you do have a mind of your own, and from what I’ve heard, Anderson isn’t all that good in bed.” August smirks. He has the audacity to smirk.

  I try to contain my expression. But it’s hard not to give him my angry face.

  “You know how he performs in bed. Interesting. Never really thought you would care about another man. Unless… you know, prison has changed you…” I say back to him, leaning in as well.

  Ha, take that, asshole.

  He glances down at my hands, then back up. “Oh, no, not at all. The pleasure of a woman is still what I crave. Would you like to appease me?”

  “Guys,” Paige says again. “This is awkward as hell. Beckham and I are going to get some ice cream.” They stand, and neither of us turns our heads. Both our eyes are pinned on each other.

  “No answer, rich girl? Don’t want to get your hands dirty by a man who doesn’t rely on his mommy and daddy’s money?” he teases. He sits back, satisfied with his answer, and crosses his arms over his chest with a gigantic smirk.

  “I’m interested… very much so. Why don’t you come over here and kiss me?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I freeze. Because shock then a sly smirk are what creep across August’s face. It was simply word vomit, and it came out because I thought he’s like Anderson and would just shake his head and laugh at me.

  But that was a mistake.

  August and Anderson are nothing alike.

  Not in the slightest.

  August stands, pushes his chair back so hard it tips over, and walks to the seat my brother vacated not too long ago. I watch his strong hands grip the chair and pull it out. Then he sits his ass in it.

  Fuck. What have I started?

  I can’t even run.

  Do I even want to, though?

  The answer is simple—it’s a resounding no.

  I would love to know how August kisses. If the rumors about him when we were growing up were true, August was the talk of many women’s lips, even mine. And that’s just from seeing him from afar.

  “Last chance to back out, rich girl.” He leans in, vibrant green eyes flick from my lips to my eyes, then back again. I take a deep breath and manage to raise my eyebrows. I can barely hear the people around us as they talk. The noise seems to fade away when I stare at him.

  How can I see only him?

  When I’ve been lost in myself for so long?

  “Your boyfriend might get jealous,” he whispers, all the while leaning closer. I can practically taste him on my lips, that minty smell assaulting my nose. “And I must warn you, I may not stop.” Again, his eyes pin my lips, and I start to close my eyes as he leans in closer. “I’m a starving man, rich girl, so you better run before I have a taste.”

  None of his words are registering.

  None.

  Not one.

  I sit waiting, wondering if those lips that are so plump, that tell stories, that call me names, will mark me any second now.

  “August.”

  “Hmm,” he replies, clearly not paying any attention to my words now.

  I feel the first brush of him, and I’m not fast enough to catch a breath when he touches me.

  It was a mistake.

  Because when I breathe, I breathe him in, and I think I‘ve become addicted in one single second of him being near me.

  Heavenly so.

  “Oh my God!” I hear the squeak before his tongue meets mine, and we both pull away at the same time.

  “Rylee.” I turn to see my brother staring at me. I don’t even bother looking at August. I’m stuck on the fact that my lips are pulsing with need for him.

  Can you love half-kissing someone?

  Because I think I love half-kissing August.

  I stand, pushing my chair back.

  “I need to go. Do you want a ride?” I ask Beckham.

  Beckham turns his attention to Paige, then leans in and kisses her cheek before he nods and steps off. I glance at August, who’s watching me with narrowed eyes.

  Like he’s trying to work me out.

  Poison, that’s what he is.

  My beautiful poison.

  And I must stay away.

  Men like him aren’t right for women like me.

  But then again neither is Anderson.

  Beckham stays quiet the whole ride home until we pull up to the front of our house. We both sit in silence as we stare at the large, white monstrosity.

  “You need to break it off with Anderson,” Beckham says. “Not because you kissed another man, but because Anderson has laid his hands on you. And if you don’t do something soon, next time he does, I’ll come into your room with my bat and beat his fucking head in, and you won’t be able to stop me.” My mouth hangs open in shock at his words. I watch Beckham as he steps out of the car and hurries to our front door. He’s taller than me, the king of his high school, and now almost a man.

  When did he grow up?

  How did I miss that he isn’t my baby brother anymore, but now he’s a young man?

  I reach for my phone and find Anderson’s number. It rings twice before he answers it.

  “Babe, what’s up?” he says casually.

  I grit my teeth as I reply to him, “Let’s have dinner tonight. Your favorite restaurant.”

  “Umm, sure. What’s brought this on? You’ve hardly wanted to see me.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” I tell him.

  He agrees, then hangs up.

  I take a deep breath, knowing that what I am about to do will probably be hard, but I hope that the right setting will ease the conflict.

  Hopefully.

  I sit at my seat like the perfect possession.

  Yes, that’s all I am to him.

  Nothing more than property he can use and abuse.

  My legs are crossed, and my elbows aren’t touching the table as I wait for him to arrive.

  He’s late. Of course, he is.

  I check my phone as the waiter comes back around and offers me a drink.

  “Wine, please.” He nods and steps off, probably feeling sorry for me.

  Ha, don’t worry, I feel sorry for me.

  No messages and no missed calls. It’s going on thirty minutes now, and I’m starving.

  Pressing call, Anderson answers, and I can hear the music in the background.

  “Where are you?”

  “At Larry’s, why? What’s up, babe?”

  “Are you joking?”

  This is not going as planned.

  I need to end it.

  Why is he making this so damn hard?

  “We had dinner plans,” I huff into the phone.

  He goes silent, but the music is pumping in the background.

  “Oh, yeah, must have slipped my mind. How about tomorrow night?”

  I hang up on him, and the ferocity with which I do it nearly knocks the phone out of my hand. Fuck him!

  My phone rings and I answer it without checking. “What?” I bite into the phone.

  “Well, fuck! You’re mad.” I pull the phone away from my ear. It’s a number I don’t recognize.

  “Who is this?”

  “August.” His voice is husky when he speaks.

  “Why are you calling my phone? And how did you get my number?” I ask as my wine arrives. I take the glass and drink it all down in one go. Pity I’m driving, or I would have ordered the whole bottle.

  “Paige got it from Beckham. Look… that won’t happen again.” He makes a guttural sound.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  The waiter arrives and asks if I would like to order.

  “Where are you?”

  “At a restaurant,” I tell him, and he goes silent.

  “Are you there by yourself?”

  “Well, that was not the plan.”

  “So, that’s a yes,” he answers. “Do they have oysters.
Bring me some.”

  I cough.

  “I’m hungry, and I’m sure you are, too. So bring some dinner to my place, rich girl, and I’ll keep you company.” He hangs up.

  My head turns up to the waiter and I order. Then I order for August and ask for it all to be takeout.

  What on earth am I doing? Something really fucking stupid, of that I’m sure.

  He’s standing at the front door naked from the waist up when I arrive. It’s dark, but the front porch light is on, and he’s hanging some plants from the ceiling. He glances my way, wipes his hands on his jeans that hang dangerously low on his hips, and leans against the side of the house.

  He watches me sit in the car, not moving.

  I have to talk myself up into actually getting out of the car.

  When I check back, he hasn’t moved, one hand holding his body up on the wall as the other hangs by his side.

  Reaching for our food, I slide out. My heels are sky-high, which makes me as tall as him as I stride toward him. Green eyes stare down at me when I stop at the bottom step. It’s a large two-story home, and from what I remember, it didn’t look like this. It was run down, and no one had lived in it for years. Now, it’s got a fresh coat of paint and could pass for a house in my neighborhood.

  “Wow! You have done so much to this old place. I love this.”

  “Yeah, the wraparound porch is probably my favorite feature of the house. It had a few problems, but nothing a lick of paint and a few nails couldn’t fix.”

  “It’s incredible.”

  “That smells good,” August states.

  “It does,” I reply and shake my head at my words.

  August chuckles and reaches for the food, his bare chest coming dangerously close to my arm.

  “You smell good, too, rich girl,” he whispers near my ear, then turns, taking the food with him as he runs in through the open door. I take a moment, brushing my hand down my soft pink dress, and tread up the stairs following him inside. Shutting the door behind me, my eyes check around. The place is nice. He doesn’t have a lot, but it’s clean. I can smell the scent of fresh paint everywhere.

  “This looks really good,” I say, my head turning around in all directions, checking his handiwork.

  There’s a single three-seater couch that sits in front of the television.

  “Nothing compared to what you’re used to, I’m sure.” I roll my eyes at his comment as I make my way to the kitchen. When I see the pastries, which I know are from Paige, I smile widely.

  “She’s a good cook, that sister of yours.”

  August lifts out the steak and gravy, sliding his finger through the gravy and sucking it off his finger. He watches me while he does it.

  “I haven’t had a steak for years, not one this good anyway.”

  “I figured you would want more than oysters,” I reply as he opens the container filled with oysters.

  “Two steaks?” he asks while checking the third container.

  I reach for it. “That’s mine.” I pick it up, which makes him chuckle.

  “No salad?” he teases.

  “I like steak.” Searching around for a knife and fork, I open one drawer and find the utensils. Reaching for two, I give him his while he holds out a plate.

  “I like pussy, do you?”

  I cough, catching my breath. I take the plate from his hand, and when I look up at him, his eyebrows are raised, and his eyes are dancing with mischief.

  “Usually, it’s cock that slides into my mouth. Can’t say I have had the pleasure of pussy, yet.” I slide the juicy steak onto my plate, and when I manage to glance up, I seem to have him frozen in position.

  It’s as if he’s trying to work me out.

  “You don’t talk to other men this way, do you?”

  I wink. “No, my foul mouth only seems to come out just for you.”

  “I’m sure that’s not all that I could make come,” he whispers but knows I hear him because he stares at me as he places an oyster into his mouth and sucks it out of the shell, never breaking eye contact.

  Glancing away, I take a seat on his couch.

  My underwear may be slightly wet.

  And my heart is beating erratically.

  But it’s surprisingly the most comfortable I have been in a long while.

  Chapter 8

  August

  She doesn’t seem bothered that my place isn’t a palace, which I know is what she’s used to. Rylee is used to the finer things in life. I don’t think she’s ever had to live without them. Her parents are not only some of the wealthiest people in this town, but the country, and she works for them. Rhianna, however, is happy to work at a coffee shop. They are like chalk and cheese.

  Rylee works at her father’s accounting firm, so I hear, and I also hear she’s good.

  Stepping over to her, I carry my own food plus two beers. I place one in front of her, and to my surprise she takes it, pops the top, and puts it to her lips.

  “You don’t watch much TV?” she asks after taking a sip and setting the bottle down. She cuts into her steak with my blunt-ass knife and puts a piece into her mouth.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because the remote isn’t here, unless I’m blind.” She checks around before her dark eyes land back on me.

  “No, no, I do not. Paige probably takes the thing with her for all I know.”

  “She would.” Rylee giggles and the sound is nice.

  “Tell me, rich girl, why are you so dressed up? Were you planning to have dinner by yourself?” I ask, then bite into my steak. It really is a good fucking steak. Best I’ve ever had.

  “I had a date with Anderson.”

  “Ohhh, Anderson,” I say, resisting the urge to call him what he really is.

  Fucking scum.

  “Yes, but plans changed.” She doesn’t sound disappointed by that fact.

  “Now you have better company,” I tell her, reaching for the last bit of her steak and putting it in my mouth.

  She opens her pink lips to tell me off, then shakes her head. “Can you put a shirt on?” Her eyes scan my body, and I like it.

  “Why?” I ask, swallowing my last bite and placing the plate down next to me.

  “Because you have a guest.” Her face flushes red.

  “And?” I reply, teasing her. “This is my house.”

  She huffs and stands. Reaching for my plate, she takes them both to the kitchen, her heels clicking on the floor. I hear her cleaning them in the sink, and I’m more than a little surprised she even knows how to do that. Standing, I see her lost in thought, her head down and lips pursed, as she washes circles on the same plate over and over again.

  “Why did your plans change with Anderson?” I ask, standing on the other side of the counter. She didn’t hear me approach. She’s that engrossed in what she’s doing.

  When she glances up, her eyes, as dark as the night sky, stare at me. A part of me tells me I should look away, that what I see in those dark eyes doesn’t pull at every fiber of my being toward her.

  But I can’t.

  I stay, watching her. Waiting for her to answer me.

  “He didn’t show,” she declares with a shrug.

  “Told you he was an asshole.”

  “I already know that,” she snaps at me.

  “What was dinner for? Special occasion?”

  She pulls the plate from the sink into the drainer then places the other in. And when she answers, she doesn’t bother to check for my reaction.

  “I was trying to call it off, but he won’t let me.”

  Okay, I did not expect that.

  So I’m glad she can’t see the shock on my face.

  “You don’t love Anderson?”

  Now her eyes flash up, a single tear slides down her cheek, but she ignores it and acts like it didn’t just fall as she stares at me.

  “I thought I did… once.” Her voice is filled with such sweet sorrow.

  “You’re better than him anyway,”
I tell her. This much I know from one conversation. How he got a girl like Rylee, I’ll never know.

  I have a feeling she’s better than most men around this town.

  Even me.

  But I’m a selfish man, and even though I should tell her to go, not only because she has a boyfriend, who she clearly wants to leave, but because staring at her is my new favorite thing to do.

  The curve of her face is almost heart-like, her lips pink, she tastes like cotton candy, and her eyes, dark as your nightmares.

  “You’re only saying that because I brought you food.” She smirks, the tear falling into the water below as she turns off the running tap.

  “Yeah. You can feed me anytime, baby,” I say, tapping my stomach. Her eyes fall to it, and her cheeks start to turn pink again.

  I like it—a lot.

  “How about you show me around. I’m sure you’ve done more. It’s so beautiful.” She isn’t lying when she says it. She truly thinks my home is beautiful. I don’t know how I can tell that, but I just can.

  No one has ever said something I’ve done is beautiful.

  Ever.

  I run a hand through my hair and smirk. “You want to see the bedroom?” I wait for her to reply.

  She puckers her lips and nods her head. “I’d like to see it all. I love older houses. They have so much character.” She says it with such enthusiasm.

  Rylee wipes her hands on her dress and follows behind me when I turn and head to the stairs. I take the steps slowly, the sound of her heels the only indicator she is behind me as we make our way to the top floor. Opening the bedroom where I sleep, I step to the side so she can enter.

  “It smells like you,” she says as she steps into my domain. She turns her head back to me over her shoulder and smiles, then spins back. “You seem to like the color brown,” she comments, observing my dark stained floors, coupled with a bed I made from scratch last week that is covered with just a plain white sheet. It’s the only thing in the room. I haven’t had money to waste on bedding, and I don’t need much. When I sold my grandmother’s bed, I made some money and bought a mattress.

  Behind the bed is a wooden feature wall, which I created. She walks over and runs her hand along it.