Resisting the Bad Boy - A Standalone Bad Boy Romance

by Gabi Moore

  She looked unimpressed, like she was waiting for the punchline of a joke that had gone on too long.

  “There’ll be a carpet at the very center,” I continued, “serving as a sort of stage within a stage…”

  Her face didn’t budge an inch.

  I felt hot. Almost sick.

  “Actually, can I be honest?” I said.

  She raised an eyebrow at me.

  I straightened in my seat and looked her full on. This was hopeless. I had messed it up completely, and there was no hope for me, not now. So, why not have fun with it then? What did I have to lose? I took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned forward in my chair.

  “What I really want to do is try something a little less …Disney,” I said.

  A small smile flickered on her lips.

  “Go on.”

  “Well, I could make Bluebeard’s bed chamber a ruin. Like, the little that’s left over of a room after a big tragedy happens to it,” I said, getting a tiny bit excited. “I’m thinking, all the walls inside his great manor are all torn down. I’m thinking, destroyed, derelict aristocracy, a crumbling grandeur and something seedy, something frightening visible under the surface.”

  I started waving my hands around.

  “Picture smashed through walls, but on each raw edge of the wall, there are tons of candles wedged into the open brickwork, all bleeding their wax down, and the floor is bare under this old, faded carpet. It used to be something noble and beautiful, but now…” I flashed mischievous eyes at her.

  Was I having fun? Tamara followed my every word.

  “I want it to be dark, Tamara. No skulls and crossbones. Bluebeard attracted his victim some way, didn’t he? He did it because he’s fucking hot,” I said under my breath.

  The smile on her face was slow and surprised.

  “So the squalor we see is sexy squalor. I’ll do broken beer bottles. It’s dirty. No fireplace – only a blackened circle right in the middle, where a fire once was,” I said, and traced a big, excited circle in the air with my arms.

  She broke out into a grin.

  “Yes I …I think I see that,” she said, and I could tell she was trying to picture what I was describing. In my smoky velvet dress and tousled hair, I chatted with her for a while longer, getting carried away with myself. She seemed less angry, and after a while even a little curious. Maybe Adam was right. Maybe I did have this.

  She glanced at her watch and frowned.

  “OK, let’s wrap this up, Nyx. I have to be honest; I like what you’re going for, and kudos to you for pushing the envelope a little. We like to see that here. Too many students don’t take risks,” she said, standing up. I stood up too, feeling infinitely lighter than when I had come in.

  “Good work,” she said and shook my hand.

  “Thank you,” I said and turned to leave.

  “Oh, and Nyx?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your aunt has campaigned heavily for you in this course, you know that, right?”

  I suddenly felt as cold and dead as the fire in Andrew’s shitty house.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “She’s a smart lady, and she’s gone to great lengths to try and convince everyone that you have a talent…”

  Silence.

  “I happen to agree with her. But don’t think for a second that talent is enough.”

  I looked at her, my hand shaking on the doorknob.

  “I mean it, Nyx. I don’t care how talented you are, it doesn’t mean you can waste my time.”

  I swallowed hard. Stared at the floor. “I apologize, Tamara,” I said. I closed the door behind me and made my way outside, adrenaline coursing through me. I was alive. I wasn’t going to get thrown off campus or disowned by aunt Lila after all. In fact, Tamara had said I was talented. Talented.

  I would never have been in this awkward mess were it not for Adam, and were it not for that evil black pill and were it not for the fire, and the wings …

  But then again, maybe I would have stuck with my boring folder of boring ideas, pitching them to Tamara in clean, ironed clothes this morning, well behaved and predictable …and untalented.

  I stood on the college steps and peered around, noticing how crisp the morning light was. I had an appointment with some carpenters later on that afternoon. But for now? Now I wanted to speak to Adam.

  I ran down the steps, heels clacking on the concrete.

  I hadn’t quite decided yet if I wanted to yell at him …or thank him. But being spontaneous was working well for me so far, wasn’t it? So, let’s just say I wasn’t trying too hard to decide.

  Chapter Eight

  “Are you at home?” I texted him.

  The reply was instant.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  The screen was still for a while then his reply popped up, simply his address and nothing more. He stayed only a few minutes’ walk from campus. My feet were beginning to hurt, but I walked quickly anyway, blood still full of adrenaline.

  I buzzed at an unassuming block of flats and the door buzzed back at me and clicked open. My heels clacked over to his door and I buzzed again. When he opened it, it took me a few moments to take him all in again, just to look at him again. Nope, he wasn’t something I had dreamt. He wasn’t a drug-induced hallucination. And yup, his eyes really did look like that, even now in the ordinary light of day.

  “Come in,” he said, and stood aside.

  My body brushed against his as I walked in. He was wearing nothing but a super-comfy looking pair of track bottoms, chest bare, feet bare. Eyes bare.

  I tossed down my bag and coat on a side table and watched him close and lock the door.

  A few hours ago, I had been whirling around a fire with him, hands linked, peals of laughter echoing in a strange abandoned lot and the relentless, beautiful feeling of raw energy, of something new and wonderful happening… And now we were in an ordinary flat, with a regular carpet. The only memory of that weird night was my long-suffering velvet dress.

  “Adam Morgan, you nearly got me into so much trouble,” I said at last.

  He lifted an eyebrow at me and said nothing. I followed him into the living room.

  “Only nearly?” he said, and settled down onto a sofa. I followed suit, folding my legs tightly underneath me.

  “Yes, only nearly, and thank God.”

  “What happened?”

  “I had to wing it. I just rattled off whatever came to mind. I mean, I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards and I probably smell worse, and I just totally winged it and said whatever came to mind.”

  “And she liked it, didn’t she?”

  I frowned.

  “Well, yes, she did actually. Thank goodness.”

  He didn’t seem at all concerned. In fact, I was beginning to wonder why I myself was still so stressed.

  “I guess you were right,” I said. “It was too Disney.”

  His smile was broad and warm.

  “Are you still sore about that?” he laughed.

  “Well, you were right after all. My other ideas were very …dull. I don’t know why I didn’t …anyway, I’m going to try a new direction. You were right. Bluebeard’s a really frightening guy. He needs a truly frightening bed chamber. You were right…” I said again, and the more I said it, the more the tension seemed to be melting from my shoulders.

  I peered at him and saw him watching my face intently, a distant smile on his lips.

  “So, I guess I came over here to tell you thank you,” I breathed.

  “Thank you for nearly getting you into so much trouble?” he said and reached out to poke my ribs. I squealed and darted away.

  “Yes, thank you for nearly getting me into so much trouble” I said, teasing him, but suddenly the look on his face went deep and serious.

  “Well, I hope I can do it again sometime.”

  And boom, there it was. All at once, a bright spark popped right the way through me, landing square
between my legs in one undeniable thump. I said nothing. My eyes tried to dart around the room, trying to settle on something, anything that wasn’t that burning black gaze of his.

  “Can I make you some coffee?” he asked.

  When he went off to the kitchen I had time to notice the little things around his apartment.

  No sign of a feminine touch in here, that was for sure. The sofa was a fold-out futon. He had expensive speakers, but cheap furniture. Nothing really matched, but it all got along well enough. There were no plants, no scatter cushions, nothing on the walls. It seemed primarily a place to do things. I spied a door that looked as though it led to his bedroom. It was darkened, with a purple bedspread over a probably unmade bed…

  “Here we go,” he said, and handed me a steaming cup.

  It tasted good. Exactly what I needed.

  We sipped silently for a moment.

  “My mum and dad both died in a car accident two years ago,” I said.

  He said nothing.

  It was my usual preamble. The first line to any story I’d want to tell from here on out. It didn’t seem possible to talk about anything without first starting this way.

  “Well, I’m sure they’d both be proud to see you …shall we say, living the creative life,” he said quietly. His voice made me feel funny inside.

  “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as ‘proud’…” I said. “My aunt is paying for me to do this course. She’s been very generous. My parents were …well, they obviously never expected to just wake up one morning and die in a car crash, you know? So they didn’t have anything set in place for me. No money. I’d be on my own if it weren’t for my aunt.”

  I didn’t know why, but it was so easy to talk to him like this, his dark eyes and the black coffee soothing and invigorating at the same time.

  “So you’re in a bit of a trap, aren’t you?” he said.

  “A trap?”

  “Well, you’re trying to learn how to create. But if you risk creating too much, or the wrong thing… then…”

  “Then my aunt cuts me off.”

  “Exactly. Sounds brutal.”

  “It is when you put it that way.”

  We sipped silently some more.

  “It’s fine to play it safe for now, though, right? I won’t rely on my aunt for that long anyway, I’ll work eventually, I just need to be careful, that’s all.”

  He gave me a quizzical look.

  “Right? I can just complete this course and then go my own way, she’s been very generous you know, and if she cuts me off…”

  “Then what? Who cares if she cuts you off?”

  It was legitimately a thought I had never had. I had no idea what would happen. I didn’t like thinking about any of this.

  “We can’t all be starving artists you know, gallivanting around taking drugs in weird broken houses or whatever,” I laughed.

  “Oh shit, can’t we? That’s basically been my life plan all this time.”

  He smiled mischievously.

  I wanted to both smack and kiss him.

  “Well, not all of us have to rely on an aunt Lila for their survival, so.”

  “Nyx?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m getting pretty tired of hearing you blather on about your aunt. I’m sure she’s a lovely woman and all, but do you think you might like to come over here and kiss me a little instead?”

  I blushed hard.

  Though my hands were shaking as I placed them down on the sofa and inched closer to him, my lips seemed to remember instantly, falling straight back into the easy rhythm we had found with one another the night before.

  Kissing him was glorious. My body melted away and all that came into focus was his sweet, soft lips and all the delicious things they did to mine. He groaned quietly as his tongue caressed mine, and the sound alone was enough to set that little spark popping through me again.

  Gently, his hands went to my hips and I shuddered. Soon, we had both tumbled down, down, down onto the sofa, crumpling sweetly into a kiss that I couldn’t bear to end. His hands were stroking over and over the flare where my hips met my thighs. I could let a boy like this get me in trouble, oh yes. If he kept kissing me like this, I could let him do anything at all…

  I pulled back and looked at him.

  “I’m …I’m feeling really gross and I think I need to freshen up,” I said, stopping our kiss dead in its tracks.

  “Don’t worry, a little dirt suits you,” he said and leaned in for another kiss.

  I reflexively pulled back.

  It was all well and good throwing caution to the wind, but shit, it was a weekday morning and I was wearing my same clothes from yesterday. I placed a cautious hand on his chest, holding him off. He smiled and looked down at the folds of crumpled velvet.

  “Are you telling me this nasty dress is the problem?” he said. I giggled.

  “We’ll have to get it off then,” he said, fingers on his chin like he was some great philosopher who resolved one of life’s great mysteries.

  I laughed and slapped his arm. “You’re terrible!”

  “Nyx, you’re the one who’s all dirty and gross,” he said, and playfully stuck out his tongue at me. I leaned forward and pecked the tip of his tongue. Quickly. Without thinking.

  “I’m sorry, I –”

  He kissed me again.

  “But really, I smell like smoke and my feet are probably all gross and…” before I could finish he had hoisted me up off the couch and threw me over, yes, threw me over, his shoulder. It was the second time in as many days. I could do nothing but laugh.

  “Oh my God, Adam where are you taking me?”

  “To get cleaned up of course.”

  Upside down, I could see us heading for another door, which he kicked open and then plonked me down in the room it opened into.

  The bathroom.

  “Well, go on. If that dress is terrible and dirty, let’s get it off and put you in the shower.

  Well, why not? I knew it was a weekday, and broad daylight to boot, and I should probably be saying fifty hail Mary’s and thanking my lucky stars my meeting this morning had gone as well as it did… but why not?

  I unknotted the little belt tie at my waist and then crouched down to gather up the hem of the dress. Maybe I was glad to be rid of it. In one long movement, I stood back up and brought the hem with me, curling it up against my body and peeling it off and up over my shoulders. When I had shrugged it off and lowered my hands, I was naked except for my panties.

  And except for his eyes. All over me.

  I stood before him. He nodded, a slight frown on his face, and I couldn’t tell if the shiver up my spine was from the coldness of the bathroom or from the intensity of the way he looked at my stomach. At my breasts. Did he see all the little imperfections? Could he tell that I was excited to be there, no matter how violently my heart was pounding in my ears?

  He reached behind the shower curtain and turned on the taps. Not taking his eyes off me, he slid off his own pants, and to my surprise, he had nothing else underneath. His body was …stronger than I had guessed.

  His thighs seemed hard and knotted, tight like the haunches of some kind of predator. And his …I looked down to see his cock hanging half erect from a dark mass of curls. With a little thrill I realized that yes, that was certainly a sizeable cock indeed. No two ways about it.

  He squared his shoulders and took a breath so deep it was like he was about to step out onto stage and project his voice for a crowd. He gestured to my flimsy knickers.

  “Are those terrible and awful too?”

  “I hate them with all my heart,” I giggled.

  “Go on then, let’s get rid of them.”

  He held out his hand.

  I wriggled out of them and gingerly handed them over. Without skipping a beat, he balled them up and threw them angrily into the dustbin.

  “Good riddance! Is there anything else we need to throw away before we continue?”

  �
�No, I’m good,” I giggled.

  He held out his hand and I took it, and like a gentleman escorting a lady into a carriage, he guided me into the wet steam of the shower, stepped in behind me, and closed the curtain around us.

  Chapter Nine

  “What’s that?”

  I turned to look at where he was pointing.

  Ah, that.

  His gaze fell on the tendrils of a faded and poorly inked tattoo snaking over my ribcage and onto my back. I hated it. A wrought iron key with ribbons laced around. At one point I had thought it was the best idea in the world.

  “That? Oh that’s just my misspent youth,” I said and smiled at him.

  He extended wet fingertips and stroked a long, thoughtful line over it, examining its shape.

  “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

  I gulped. My head felt dizzy in the hot steam of the shower. We stood there together, looking. The water had soaked us both, and his dark hair seemed even darker, slicked back in little spikes like a seal’s. We huddled together under the water stream, our bodies only an inch or so apart.

  “You’re beautiful too,” I said, and when I did he leaned in again and kissed me, lips hot and wet and little parts of my body touching little parts of his. The top of his pecs, the poke of hips, all delicately grazing against my nakedness. I closed my eyes against the water dribbling over me and felt the most delicious pleasure washing down. A tight, almost painful ache throbbed at my clit.

  He was the last thing I needed right now. He was a ‘bad influence’, reckless, a little wild, too much. But maybe that was just what I needed?

  I squeezed my thighs together and brought my hips closer to him. I didn’t have to look to know that he was fully hard now, his cock pinned between both our bodies, the endless torrent of warm water rushing over us. He pressed against the slick flat of my belly, smooth and utterly naked.

  “I can’t decide yet if you’re good for me or bad for me…” I mumbled against his partly opened lips, and his hands raked into my wet hair and guided my head back, revealing my vulnerable neck to more kissing.

  “Ask your gut …ask …here,” he said and extended a hand to rest just beneath my navel. My knees almost buckled by how good it felt to have his hands so close to that desperate growing throb inside me.