My Beautiful Poison (Wicked Poison Book 1)

by T. L Smith

  She moans into my mouth but refuses to break contact.

  Jesus, can she kiss.

  Why did I wait so long?

  Because I knew I would become addicted.

  Is one taste ever enough?

  I’m obsessed with the girl whose eyes are as black as the night sky and a voice that entrances me.

  Her hands grip the back of my neck hard, her nails digging into my skin, but I don’t stop her.

  She’s the first woman I’ve been with for a long time. So rushing it is not something I want to do. And I had made my mind up it wouldn’t be with her.

  I place Rylee on my couch. She lets go of my neck, unhooks her legs from my waist, and pulls her T-shirt dress over her head. She’s wearing no bra and only a pair of black lace panties.

  Her lips are pink with need, and she bites her bottom one as she stares at me. I reach for my shirt, pulling it over my head, and kick off my shoes.

  “Only sex.”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “Rich girl, tell me you heard me.” My hands pause on my belt buckle.

  She sits up, her tits are bigger than I thought they were, and I want to fuck them, along with every other part of her body.

  She reaches for my jeans and pulls my cock out, her soft hands choking it ever so perfectly before she leans forward and places her tongue on the tip. She circles and then in one swift movement, like she was made for me, she takes me fully into her mouth, her hand at the bottom pumping while her other fondles my balls.

  Reaching for her hair, I grip tight, not directing because she clearly doesn’t need that but to hold the fuck on for dear life.

  It doesn’t take long for me to explode, and I’m glad it was in her mouth for my first time, rather than her pussy.

  Because that pussy, well that, I plan to fuck all fucking night.

  She wipes her mouth and pulls back. Her smirk is well and truly in place as she stands in front of me, my jeans now kicked off somewhere in between everything that’s happening.

  “I heard you,” she states. “But you may become addicted.” She winks and pulls me down so I am sitting on the couch.

  My hands touch her back and slide up. Fuck, her skin is like silk. Wrapping my hands around her as she comes to sit on me, my cock instantly hardens as I feel her wet heat. I kiss her neck, and she drops her head back and starts sliding over me. My cock is not in her pussy, but I’m very much enjoying the feeling of her slick warmth rubbing along my shaft.

  She lifts her hands and runs her fingers through her hair as I lean forward and kiss my way to her tits. And just as I thought, they taste so fucking sweet.

  I like that she thinks she has control, and I’m allowing her to think that because I don’t know her well enough to know her limits. So I let her glide herself against me until she stops. When I move my mouth away from her tits, I slip my hand down between us, positioning my cock for her to slide on.

  She licks her lips, then she slowly drops down, taking it at her own pace, her pussy clenching around my cock.

  I’m amazed I don’t come again. Instead, I lean forward and grip her to me tight, and stand with her, while she wraps her arms around me, then walk her to the counter. Pulling her hands free, I lay her down so her bare back is on the countertop and skim my hand up between her breasts to her neck and give it a slight squeeze to keep her in place.

  “Do you want me to fuck you, rich girl?” I lean forward, pinning her in place, and bite her nipple.

  “Yes,” she moans.

  “Tell me, rich girl. Tell me you want me to fuck you.” It takes everything in me not to slam into her right now. Not to fuck her until we are both sore and unable to move.

  I started having sex at fifteen with a girl who most would consider was from the wrong side of town. She was older and knew so much more than me. Then, when I was sixteen, I moved on to a different type. Older women. I liked to fuck older women. They knew what they wanted and didn’t ask for anything more.

  It was easy.

  So easy.

  Rich girl is not going to be easy.

  No, when I glance down into those devil-worshipping eyes, I know she’ll be anything but easy.

  “Fuck me, August.”

  I smirk at her words.

  No Auggie this time.

  So, I do as she says. I hold her in place and fuck her cunt until she’s screaming with everything she has.

  And then I keep going because I fucking can.

  Chapter 13

  Rylee

  I had read somewhere that a man falls in love faster than a woman. A man can fall in love at first sight, whereas a woman can take up to three months, sometimes longer. And that a man is more inclined to wait for the woman to mutter those three little words first.

  I don’t know how true that is, but with August, I know he could never love me. He looks at me as if I’m the devil.

  But I’m also okay with that.

  I accept it because I like him.

  He picks me up like a rag doll as I lie helplessly on the kitchen counter. He left me lying there and grabbed a bottle of water, drinking it down, then grabbed another before throwing me over his shoulder.

  My legs are sore. And between my legs, there is a dull ache. But the bounce in his step makes me believe he’s neither. He walks with me hanging over him up the stairs to his room, kicks the door open, deposits me on the bed, then hands me the bottle of water. I take it, drinking while he watches me.

  “So, your mother is a sore spot, then?”

  He shakes his head but doesn’t answer, then heads into the closet, grabbing a fresh pair of underwear.

  “Do you want a pair?” he asks, completely ignoring my initial question.

  I sit up on my elbows and let my eyes soak him in. His body is defined in every possible way. He has that V cut, which connects to his perfectly shaped penis, which I might add is the perfect size, soft and hard. And, he made me come from his cock alone. Anderson had never been able to do that. Ever. So I assumed it was a myth. How wrong was I?

  “Do you want to shower before I fuck you again?” he asks since I’ve ignored his previous question because my eyes are too lost glancing over his body. I manage to lift my eyes to his chest, which I’ve seen before, but the sight of it still makes me want to get off the bed and run my hands down the taut bumps and grooves, leaving fingernail impressions as I go.

  “What about in the shower?” I ask, sitting up. “I’ve never had sex in the shower.”

  “How is that possible?”

  I shrug, not wanting to get into it that Anderson only liked to fuck me doggy style.

  “Shower it is then.” He steps out and I follow. I ogle his naked ass until he reaches the bathroom and runs the shower. He places two towels down and steps in, holding the shower curtain open for me. It’s an old shower over a bath. I step in as he moves under the stream and lets the water run down his body. The droplets of water run over the muscles and then continue down his body, and for some reason, it makes me parched. It’s as if I’m in the Sahara Desert, and the only water available is on him.

  Fuck, my arousal level has skyrocketed just from staring at him.

  Again, how can that be possible?

  Stepping up to him, my hands play on his firm stomach, not reaching his cock this time but watching as it hardens at my touch.

  He makes me feel powerful, wanted, desired. His body wants me, even if his mind isn’t sure it does.

  “What kind of women were you with before me?” I ask, tracing the lines on his stomach, fascinated with his V.

  His hands drop to his sides, letting me touch him however I want.

  “Not ones like you,” he answers coldly.

  His hand reaches up and wraps around my neck, and I turn around. He pushes forward while my ass presses back into him.

  “Turn back around. I like to watch your soulless eyes when I fuck you.” I do as he says and press my front into him. He grips me by the neck again with one hand and puts the o
ther under one leg, hiking it up and bringing me forward so our bodies are entirely touching. “You will look at me as I make you come. No closing your eyes.”

  I nod as he bends his knees ever so slightly and slides straight into me. As he enters me I gasp but keep my eyes open, like he requested. I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me fully, so now we’re fucking standing up.

  My back hits the cold wall, and he lets go of my ass as I grip onto him for dear life with my legs and glide up and down. His hands are now sliding into my own hands, entwining our fingers before he pulls them up the wall so I’m being held up by them. I don’t let go of my grip around his waist with my legs and, somehow, I keep on managing to move. I can feel the orgasm building, wanting to claim me as much as I want it to.

  “Open those eyes,” he whispers, then bites my neck.

  I do, and when I glance at him with hooded eyes, his green ones don’t leave mine. He wants to see it all, watch me as I start to come undone. And I don’t feel the need to look away, to feel embarrassed or ashamed. No, this feels amazing. It’s as if I am all that he wants right now.

  “That’s it,” he says, leaning in and giving me an open-mouthed kiss as I come. I kiss him back, and he lets go of my hands and grips my ass to keep me from falling while he keeps fucking me.

  I like being fucked by August Trouble.

  Very much so.

  He left me to shower alone, and when I step out, I find my clothes sitting on the sink. I get dressed quickly and head downstairs to find him making himself a sandwich in the kitchen.

  “You want one?”

  “No, I should be going…”

  “Bye.”

  One word.

  That’s all he says.

  One single word.

  Then he turns his bare back to me. There’s a towel wrapped around his waist, hiding that gorgeous ass from me, but I can see the outline.

  I make my way to the door but stop before I open it. When I peek back over my shoulder, he’s watching me.

  “Don’t make it out to be more than what it was, rich girl. It was just sex.”

  “It was,” I lie.

  He smirks as if he knows I’m lying. Grabbing my keys from my handbag, I pull it over my shoulder and turn to leave. The whole drive home, my mind replays every single scene, as if it’s a movie playing rent-free in my head.

  Was that a stupid thing to do? I mean, technically, it’s only been a few weeks since I split from Anderson, even though I’d been trying to get rid of him for a lot longer. I was with Anderson for years, so shouldn’t I feel like this is all kinds of wrong?

  I know I shouldn’t be moving this fast.

  I need to slow things down.

  But oh my God, the sex was so good.

  Fuck.

  On the drive home, I am constantly in my head. The visions of August fucking me won’t leave me. After what feels like only a few seconds, I arrive home and pull into the driveway, jump out of my car, and run inside.

  “Rylee.”

  I pause at my sister’s voice.

  I didn’t even notice she was there when I stepped into our apartment.

  She looks me up and down and the tips of her lips turn up into a wide grin. “Where have you been?” She wiggles her eyebrows as if she already knows the answer to the question.

  “I need to sleep,” I reply, totally ignoring her question.

  “I think I know who made you so tired. Oh, by the way, your Indian came. I guess you got so busy, you forgot about it.” She yells the last part as I walk into my room, shutting the door.

  Rhianna has a larger room, but that doesn’t faze me. Living here means everything to me. I can do whatever I want whenever I want and not worry about coming home late or being concerned I may wake my parents.

  I’m not sure why I waited so long to move out. It seems I needed a wake-up call, and Anderson has supplied that in bucketloads. I simply had to build the strength to displease my parents without having that fact weigh on my conscience too heavily.

  Working in the family business makes this all the harder, but I had to build the fortitude and simply go for it. Now, I breathe easier, knowing I don’t have to deal with their disapproval and criticism of absolutely everything I do. Sure, I hear it at work, but at least I get a breather when I’m home. Living with Rhianna has so many perks, and I finally feel free—free from my parents and free from Anderson—free to live my life any way I want. And the feeling of freedom is so liberating.

  “Beckham called. He’s coming to spend the day with you tomorrow.” She bangs on my door as I close my eyes.

  He’s been away for the last week at camp, and now he’s back. I’m guessing because I’m not home, he needs to discuss what happened.

  I love my brother.

  When Rhianna moved out, Beckham and I grew closer.

  He trusts me with the secrets he doesn’t tell anyone, and I appreciate him and help where I can.

  My phone dings next to me, and when I go to reach for it, I see Anderson’s name flash across the screen.

  Goddammit! I turn it off because I do not need him ruining a perfectly good night.

  Instead, I go to sleep with dreams of August.

  “Wake up.” Banging on my door rouses me from sleep. I somehow manage to slide out of bed and pull it open to see Beckham standing on the other side, dressed in his football jersey and some jeans. I let him in, and we walk back to my bedroom and lie on my bed.

  “Mom asked about you today. Asked if I could see you, which she already knew I was going to, and that if you could give her the courtesy of coming home to arrange dinners.”

  “Rhianna only has to do one,” I tell him.

  “Rhianna isn’t the golden child.”

  “I heard that,” Rhianna yells out from her room.

  “Like it’s something you didn’t already know,” Beckham yells back. Then he turns around to me. His face is bruised, and his lip is split. I reach out to touch it, but he shakes his head.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” he says, defensively.

  “Beckham.”

  “Anderson has been telling people things about you.”

  “Of course he has. It’s his M.O. to do that shit. You need to ignore him.”

  “He said that you prefer trailer trash over him.” I harumph at his words. “August is better than him anyway, and I don’t even know the dude.”

  “He is better,” I say. “But don’t fight over it or me. Leave Anderson to run his mouth, it doesn’t affect me.”

  Beckham scratches his head. “You know then?”

  “Yes, I know he knocked some skank up.”

  He sits on my bed next to me. “Actually, she’s nice. Jacinta’s her name. She stopped me last week and asked about you. Asked for your number, but I didn’t give it to her.”

  “Good. I want nothing to do with either of them. I don’t know her, and I don’t want to,” I tell him. “Beckham, please… stay away from Anderson and everything that goes with that man.”

  He takes his baseball cap off his head and shakes his hair out. “Mom is mad… you know… that you called it off with him.”

  “She can stay mad. I don’t care.”

  “You do care, though. You aren’t like Rhianna,” he points out.

  Beckham is right, but maybe if I tell myself enough times that I don’t care, it’ll be true.

  Probably not, though.

  Beckham’s phone starts ringing. He answers it, and I overhear my mother’s voice on the other end.

  “Tell your sister to come for dinner, please. I need to talk to her.” Beckham looks at me helplessly, raising his eyebrows, and I take the phone from his hand.

  “I have to catch up on work tonight, Mom.”

  “It’s just for a bit. Come on… you have to eat. Don’t be silly, Rylee. I’ll see you at six.” She hangs up, and I pass the phone back to Beckham.

  “Do you want me to tell Rhi?” he asks. Knowing full well she�
��ll come and be the bouncer I need between our mother and me.

  “No, it’s fine. Now, what do you want to do today?” I ask with a genuine smile.

  “Go-karting.”

  “Go-karting it is,” I say, standing and pulling on my joggers.

  “You came,” my mother states as if she knew I wouldn’t come as we walk inside.

  Beckham goes straight past her and up the stairs to his bedroom.

  We had a good day. I needed it, and I think he did too.

  “You asked me, did you not?”

  She nods and steps off to the kitchen, so I follow her. When we get there, I see Anderson’s parents sitting at the table with Anderson as well.

  Oh, fuck no.

  No. No. NO, I scream in my head.

  Really? I glare at my mother, who’s grinning like she’s won some sort of competition as she pulls out a chair for me to sit on. I check around for my father but don’t spot him anywhere.

  “I must have come at the wrong time,” I say to my mother with a forced smile. “I see you have company. I’ll come back another time.” I go to leave, but Anderson’s mother calls out to me, “Don’t be silly, Rylee. Sit, we have things to discuss.”

  With a sideways glance, I glare at my mother, and if looks could kill, she would positively, absolutely, unequivocally be dead.

  “Come, sit.” Mom nods for me to sit in the chair she pulled out like my reaction meant nothing to her. I’m dressed in jeans and a shirt that has Tupac printing on it.

  Anderson’s mother lifts her nose in disgust, I’m assuming at what I am wearing, as I stroll past her.

  When I do finally sit, my mother takes the seat next to me and taps her long, fake nails on the table. “So, I have been informed of the issue at hand.”

  Issue!

  Issue?

  As if what’s happening is an issue.

  It’s a baby.

  “Yes, we’ve been out of our mind with worry,” Anderson’s mother says with a shake of her head. Everything about this woman is fake—face, eyes, tits, ass—I’m sure she keeps her plastic surgeon in Ferraris.