Built: An enemies to lovers second chance bad-boy alpha romance

by Marr, Maggie

  He’s above me, that hot hunk of man-flesh. I grasp his cock. I want him so badly I can hardly stand it, but he pulls away from my grasp. His lips press down the side of my neck, teasing me with his kiss. He pauses at my breast to suck my nipple deep into his mouth. His hand travels over my belly and he releases my nipple from between his lips. He presses his lips across my belly.

  Oh yes please!

  A trail of heat and want over my thigh. His hot breath on me as he spreads my thighs with his hands. He splits my sex with his tongue and my entire body trembles with want. His tongue slide up one side of my sex and then he presses his tongue to my clit. He slides over and around and pulls my clit into his mouth.

  A jolt to my brain. My body thrums with pleasure. He slides two fingers deep into my sex and my body rocks up and back. The wave of pleasure builds. I press my hands through Jake’s hair and he teases my clit with his mouth. Pulling me through my orgasm with his mouth, I gasp for air. I pull at his hair and his lips come up to my lips.

  He kisses me and I grab for his sex. I need him deep inside me, I want him deep inside me.

  “Please, Jake, please,” I pant out.

  Jake hovers above me and I feel the hard, thick tip of his cock press into the smooth, wet entrance of my sex. His bright blue eyes gaze down at me and his face softens in the moonlight that shines into my bedroom. Does he see in my eyes how much I care for him? How I’ve always cared for him? How no matter that we argue or that he may be the biggest pig-headed pain in the ass man that I know, that I adore him and while I wish that I didn’t love him, I do?

  I love Jake Warner.

  Fuck.

  I always have even when I didn’t want to. Does he know? Does he care?

  He stares into my eyes and then I blink because I simply can’t take the intensity of how he looks and how I feel and I remind myself that this is just physical. This isn’t love. This, what Jake and I are doing, is simply sex and nothing more. Physical is so much easier than trying to confront the feelings that I have for Jake. Feelings that I really need to ignore, because I’m pretty certain that the feelings I have for Jake are feelings that Jake most definitely doesn’t share.

  Chapter 9

  Jake

  Becca makes me crazy. In every single way. I slam shut my pickup door at the construction site and walk around the back of my truck. It’s eight in the morning on a Saturday and my eyeballs feel like somebody poured sand inside my eyelids last night. Not that I was sleeping. Thanks to Becca it was completely worth it. Okay, I know she thinks I’m an asshole for a reason and standing her up at Galvenetti’s last night doesn’t help my case that I’m not one.

  But I’m not.

  At least not where Becca is concerned.

  It’s just our fucking timing has always been way off.

  Like this morning. I’m dragging my ass in to work, after fucking Becca all night last night and then a quick shower at my place, and there she is standing on the front steps of my jobsite looking like a fucking million bucks in a suit that is cut tight in all the right places. With legs for days, high heels, and her hair in that up-do that makes me want to bend her over the nearest sawhorse and take her until she screams my name.

  But I won’t. Because perfect Becca, who can get completely turn-it-on one minute and turn-it-off the next, is standing beside Mr. and Mrs. Jackson who Becca is currently wooing to try and get them to agree to let Ryan & Sons Construction build their latest twenty million dollar home in Bel Aire. Not a bad piece of business for Ryan and his sons…and daughter.

  “And this is Jake Warner,” Becca says and tosses me a smile. “Jake, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson.”

  “Please,” the wife says, “call us Meg and Cole.” She smiles and wraps her arm around her husband’s. She’s nice as hell, but he’s all business. He looks at his wife and then I see it: he’s definitely not an asshole, because the way he looks at his wife tells me everything I need to know about this guy. He loves her completely and the look on his face makes it pretty damn obvious.

  I plaster my best smile on my face, nod at Meg and Cole, and shake their hands. I do my best to pretend that last night I didn’t see Becca come a half dozen times, but the vision of her eyes rolling back in her head in utter orgas-tastic pleasure is seared into my brain. I smile, just a little, and a wicked glint is in my eyes with the memory of Becca last night.

  Warning fills her eyes as she looks at me, like don’t even give me that look, Jake Warner, or I’ll castrate you… In my head I can actually hear her voice saying those words to me and it makes me smile even wider.

  “Jake,” she says in a tone like a third-grade teacher warning me. “Cole and Meg would love to see the interior of the home, specifically the master bedroom. Their architect told them about the bathroom. Could you give us a tour?”

  “Sure,” I say and turn the key to the front door. This house is done. It’s been fully dressed with furniture for the showing on Sunday and we’ve got today and tomorrow to do minor touch-ups before the open house. As the Jacksons walk in ahead of us, Cole slips his arm around his wife’s waist. They share a happy look with each other.

  I want that. I want that with Becca. To share a loving and happy look over and over and over for the rest of my life. Becca makes this type of dog and pony show look effortless, like she was born to network, interface, liaison, schmooze, whatever the fuck they call it now, with this couple and anyone else who might ever want to build a home. What Becca makes look easy is my least favorite part of the job.

  “Last night didn’t happen, got that? Nothing happened, are we clear?” She whispers in my ear as the Jacksons climb the stairs to the master bedroom ahead of us.

  “Couldn’t you have texted me about this?” I whisper back, intentionally ignoring what she just told me.

  “Just like you texted me?” Becca says.

  “I did text you,” I say, “and I called you. Your phone was dead. Is that my fault too? Your inability to keep your phone charged?” I lean closer to her and whisper, “And by the way, I’m NOT forgetting what happened between us last night. Not ever. In fact, this morning when I showered I actually used that memory, to you know…” I wiggle my eyebrows.

  Red rolls up Becca’s neck and flushes her cheeks.

  “There’s my Tiger,” I whisper.

  “Stop. It.” she hisses.

  Which only makes me smile wider.

  “Hmm, nope don’t think so. Too much fun. I like fun, and here’s a little reminder—so do you. Like the fun we had last night…wasn’t that”—I hold up my hand and count on my fingers—“one, two, six times the fun?” I ask.

  Mrs. Jackson looks back at us from the staircase and then looks at Cole. “This seems very familiar,” she says, and tosses a smile at her husband. “When we were dating, I remember someone else who enjoyed teasing me mercilessly at work.” Cole squeezes Meg closer to his side and they continue up the long staircase to the second floor.

  Becca takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and tugs on the bottom of her suit jacket. “Just show them the damn bathroom and we’ll be gone,” she whispers. She walks faster up the stairs and is in front of me in her tight suit skirt and high heels. That firm, round ass shakes in front of my face and I fight the urge to reach out and squeeze her juicy-as-fuck ass.

  Fuck it.

  I take both my hands. Cup her ass, and squeeze.

  “Aaah!” It’s a combination yelp with a tiny scream that comes out of Becca’s mouth.

  Mr. and Mrs. Jackson both turn from two stairs ahead of Becca.

  “Ow, ow, ow,” she says covering. “New heels, so sorry!” She turns to me and shoots me a look. “Don’t touch me again, asshole,” she mouths.

  I nod and open my eyes wider like she’s just asked me if I want to suck on her titties. Because I do. Right here. Right now. I’m so fucking turned on I don’t even care if the Jacksons watch. All I want is to lie Becca on this staircase and fuck her Risky Business style. I fight the urge to lean forward and kiss t
hat smart mouth, but seriously at this point she’d probably cock her arm back and break my nose. So instead I smile first at her and then at Mrs. Jackson, pretending to be, of course, the All-American guy I look like.

  Twenty minutes later, the entire tour is over and the Jacksons are driving away in their luxury automobile. I’m on my cell phone on the front drive telling my touch-up guy all the places he missed so he can come by after lunch and get this place finished. Miss Too-Cute-Tight-Ass comes prancing down the front steps with a guy wearing a suit in tow.

  Where did this guy in a suit come from? And why is he standing far too close to the girl I banged last night and intend to bang every night for the rest of my life?

  Becca does a hair toss giggle combo and I’m about to take that guy’s five hundred dollar tie and hang him from the front porch lamp.

  “Becca?” I call, having absolutely no other reason to say her name than to get this guy in a suit away from the girl that I love.

  Love?

  Oh fuck me.

  She holds up her hand toward me in the universal just a minute sign and doesn’t even look my way. Really? Really? Not on my worksite. I bust on over to Miss Too-Cool-For-School and her Mr. My-Hands-Are-Too-Soft-For-Hard-Work.

  “Excuse me Becca, I need to speak with you,” I say.

  “One moment please.” Again with the not even looking at me and then giggling at another inane factoid this guy says. What is he—a realtor? What do they even do for a living?

  “Becca,” I say again.

  “Look, buddy,” smarmy-realtor guy says turning and pointing his finger in my face. “I realize you’re not used to manners, but the lady told you to wait a minute.”

  Heat explodes through my chest. I give Becca a sideways glance kind of like asking, can you believe this guy, and instead of being all-in on my side she’s actually standing there with her arms crossed and tapping her toe like I’m wrong and this grade-A douche is right. Her phone rings and she glances at it.

  “So sorry, Rick, I’ll be right back,” she says and scampers into the house to take the call.

  I turn to Rick-the-Dick who just reamed me out and plaster on my biggest smile getting ready to kill this one with kindness. “Hey Rick,” I say, “this is my worksite and while I can appreciate that you want to see the house, and hopefully make a shit-ton of money off the listing, surely you can appreciate how important your safety is while you’re here. So if you want to stay, I’m going to need you to put on one of these.” I shove a hard hat onto his carefully coiffed hair that has more putty substance in it than the drywall. “And also these rubber boots.” I reach behind me and pick up a pair from beside the fountain that our landscaper must’ve left behind “We have a bit of a”—I lower my voice and cup my hand over my mouth—“raw sewage problem. Health inspector will be here soon. Don’t want your shoes to get dirty and we definitely don’t want anyone getting sick. I hear E. coli can be a real bitch to get over.”

  “E. coli?” The pitch of his voice is high and he looks around as though fecal matter could be bubbling up onto the driveway right now.

  “Have no idea what happened. Think we may be on some sort of burial ground. Ever see The Shining?” His eyes bug out of his head hearing this. I continue, “Anyway if you’ll just pull these on over your shoes—”

  He glances at his phone. “Oh, look at that! My conference call is early,” he says. “Have Becca call me once the house is done”— he trots down the drive, around the fountain, and over a puddle in the gutter—“and the…situation is cleaned up.” He hops into his Porsche and rips down the road.

  Just behind me the front door opens.

  “Where is Rick going?”

  “Not sure. He said something about getting home to his wife so that he could take his daughter to school,” I say.

  “He has a wife!?” Becca says. “And a child?”

  “Seems like it,” I say, pressing my hands into my back pockets. “So listen, about last night…”

  “Not discussing it,” Becca says, then retreats into the house.

  I follow her. She stops at the kitchen island where her purse is on the giant slab of marble. She starts to rummage through her giant bag. “Wait, where’s my phone?”

  “How do you find anything in there?”

  “Seriously, Jake? Not your problem,” she says and keeps looking. She drops the bag on the counter. “Did I leave it upstairs in the bathroom?” She brushes by me and around the corner and to the stairs. I trail her and trot up the stairs after her.

  She rushes down the hall to the master bedroom and I’m hot on her tail. She enters and spins looking for her phone.

  “Becca, please—”

  “Jake, let’s pretend it didn’t happen, okay? None of it happened. You didn’t stand me up and I didn’t…we didn’t…it never happened. None of it.”

  “Including the rabbit?” I say, with a wicked smile.

  Again with the red face and the toss of her head. “You know that’s exactly why we could never work, you and I. You never take me seriously. I’m just Becca—Dave and Jack and Matt’s little sister Becca. My entire life you teased me about my pig tails or my braces or my freckles or…or anything and now, NOW, you’re teasing me about my selection in DILDOS! Okay! After you broke in—”

  “I used a key—”

  “Without permission—”

  “Oh, I know you said yes to everything.”

  “Regardless of my consent in the moment, you are now teasing me about my dildo selection so yeah, it’s the teasing and the not taking me seriously which makes me realize that no matter how many times we try and how good the sex is, this” —she waves her hand between us—“would never work.”

  “Becca, come on, I tease you because I love you,” I say.

  She gasps and I don’t flinch. Because it’s true and I’m fucking tired of pretending it’s not.

  She puts her hand over her mouth and squints at me. “Did you…did you just tell me that you love me?”

  “I did,” I say. I step closer to Becca and look into her eyes. “I also said that I tease you because I. Love. You. Look, I said it again. Two times. There’s something about seeing you get all wound up that I enjoy.”

  “You…you love me?”

  “Said it twice. Not taking it back.” I smile at her and I realize that she isn’t sure I’m being serious. I slip the silly-ass grin from my face and look into those gorgeous eyes. “Yeah, Becca, I do.”

  She waves her hand and backs away from me. “Still won’t work,” she says and goes to check the bathroom for her phone. As she comes out, I step in front of her.

  “Wait, why?”

  “Well, because you never apologize,” she says. “In all the years we’ve been together and all the shitty things you’ve done—”

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “First there was prom—”

  “I was in the hospital, Becca! I had an emergency appendectomy!”

  “You could’ve called.”

  “I was sedated.”

  “Then there was our fling in college,” she says after a short hesitation.

  “You told me it was a fling and not to call you after.”

  “Oh, so the one time you do what I ask is the time I don’t want you to?”

  “I want those pajama bottoms back by the way—don’t think I didn’t notice them last night.” I grin. “What else?” I move in closer and put my hands on her waist. I bend forward and place my lips on her neck. Oh yes, she’s starting to thaw.

  “Last night,” she says, her voice softer. She tilts her head a tiny bit to the left to give me a better angle on her neck. “You left me at Galvenetti’s and didn’t—”

  “Becca,” I say using the sexiest voice I can muster, “I called, I texted, and I came by…what else could I have done? Did you want a homing pigeon?”

  “Maybe,” she says.

  I slip my hand beneath her suit jacket and rub my thumb over her silk blouse so her nipple tightens. �
�Looked like all you really needed was a rabbit,” I say.

  She presses her palm into my chest and pushes me away. “See, that’s exactly what I mean, Jake Warner, always with the wise crack.” She backs up and shakes her head. “No, no, no. Not doing this.” As she turns, I catch her wrist and spin her around and into my chest.

  “Becca,” I say and stare into those perfect blue eyes that I want to look into for the rest of my life. “I’m sorry.” God please let this apology be enough, because I do not want to lose this woman again. She is all I’ve ever wanted and all I’ve ever needed and please, let her be mine now and forever.

  “Do you mean it?” she asks. Her heart beats so fast and so hard I can feel it against my chest. Her body molds to mine and all her anger slides from her muscles.

  “Yes, I really am sorry, for all of it,” I say and lean even closer to those sweet pink lips.

  “No, I mean the other.” She drops her gaze and I press my hand beneath her chin and tilt her face back up to me because a woman like Becca Ryan shouldn’t ever drop her gaze.

  “That I love you?”

  She looks into my eyes and nods.

  “Yes, Becca Ryan, I’ve loved you since the moment I rescued Mr. Biggles all the way to now. Will you let me love you for the rest of your life?”

  “Maybe”—a tiny smile curls at the corners of her lips—“I could be persuaded.”

  “Oh really, how could you be persuaded?”

  Becca licks her bottom lip and that is all the invitation I need. I press my mouth to hers and my whole body is on fire with need. I pick her up and she wraps her legs tight around my waist. I carry her across the ginormous master bedroom toward the bed that has been set up and dressed for the open house later today. I lay her back onto the mattress and whip my free hand across the bed getting rid of the two thousand fucking pillows that are on here for decoration.

  “Why so many pillow?” I ask.

  Becca giggles. Her hands are already on my belt and she unbuckles and unzips and pulls my pants down over my hips. She stays on her knees on the bed and takes off her suit jacket. I stand there naked and watch. Slowly, with a tiny grin on her face, she unbuttons each button of her silk blouse.