by Karina Halle
Oh no. Oh no.
No.
My head whips around to see Fluffy on the counter behind me.
I swear he lifts one of his hairy legs and waves it at me, giving me a wink with one of his many dark shining eyes.
There’s a split second where everything freezes. Fluffy in mid-wave. My heart. My lungs.
And then Fluffy suddenly moves.
And I don’t know if he’s flinging himself at me or just running away or what’s going on, but I scream bloody murder and I jump to my feet, running clear to the other side of the room. Somewhere in this display of utter cowardice I remember I’m with Amanda. And I’m naked. And still I’m hoping she’s a bigger man than me.
But she’s also screaming, running down the hall.
“Are you okay?” I yell at her, shudders running through me.
“Yeah!” she cries out from around the corner. “Ahh, I feel like he’s crawling on me!”
“Me too!” I slap my hands all over my body. My eyes dart all over the living room, the kitchen, expecting to see that fuzzy rose gold body anywhere.
“What are you going to do?” Amanda yells.
“I don’t know. Kill him?”
“You can’t do that, it’s Kevin’s!”
“Fucking Kevin,” I mutter. “Fine. I guess. We’ll. Capture. Him.”
I let out an embarrassing cry.
Amanda cries out too. “Okay. Okay. We’ll do it together.”
“We better or I’m calling the fire department.”
“I can’t believe you have a fear of spiders!”
“Why? So do you! And it’s a bloody tarantula! It’s as big as my hand!!”
“Yeah, but you’re a man.”
“Well, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you needed tarantula-wrangling skills on top of a massive cock and orgasms to go. Want me to go into the jungle and wrestle an alligator, too?”
“Let’s just…get it.”
I sigh, trying to gather the courage. “Okay. You come from that direction and I’ll come from this one and maybe we can corner him.”
I take a few steps, taking stealthy glances around the room. At the moment, everything from the remote to a coaster to a shoe looks like Fluffy.
“Is he actually dangerous?” Amanda yells.
“I did a bunch of research,” I yell back. “Once I got him, I wanted to make sure he wasn’t a stowaway from Arachnophobia. I didn’t want to end up like Bill Pullman.”
“That was Jeff Daniels.”
“Or was it Bill Paxton? Anyway. He’s a Chilean Rose tarantula and they’re supposed to be docile. But I’ve seen him eat those crickets, I mean snap their bloody heads off. And I know he looks at me like he’s going to do the same.”
I creep forward until I’m just past the couch and I see her head peek around the corner of the hallway.
“Are you carrying a weapon?” I ask.
She has a toilet plunger in her hands, holding it like a baseball bat. “I had to grab something.”
Damn.
I should have a weapon.
I grab a magazine from the coffee table and roll it halfway into a scoop.
We both edge forward.
Peer over the island.
There he is.
Sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor.
But I swear he’s on his haunches and hissing.
Like the bastard is waiting for us.
Come closer, he seems to say. Come closer, my friend.
Since he’s from Chile, he has the accent and everything.
“Now what?” Amanda asks, gripping her plunger.
“Well, I guess since we can’t kill him, we can’t manhandle him either.”
“So I can’t bat him across the room? Because that spider in Home Alone put up with a lot.”
“No,” I tell her with a disappointed sigh. “They’re delicate. If you were to handle him and drop him, he could die.”
“Accidents happen,” she says slowly.
Man, do I love this woman’s brain.
I’m smiling but I shake my head and quickly wipe it off my face.
“No. Think of Kevin.” I’m saying it more for myself.
I creep forward.
She creeps forward.
Fluffy turns to her.
She freezes.
He turns to me.
I freeze.
Amanda makes her move.
She comes at him with the plunger from behind, getting him moving.
He comes scuttling toward me on those fuzzy eight legs.
Somehow I lower the magazine and he crawls right onto it.
Now I’m holding the magazine at eye level and Fluffy is sitting on it and I’m screaming silently, mouth open and everything.
A living nightmare.
“Get him to his cage!” Amanda yells.
I’m naked, with Fluffy balancing on a magazine, and somehow I make my way down the hall, to the study, and place the entire magazine inside, my hands shaking nonstop.
I withdraw my arms in shock and Amanda quickly puts the lid back on as Fluffy scampers into one of his logs to hide.
“Okay,” she says, taking in a deep breath, “you say he’s an escape artist, but you left the damn lid off.”
I blink. “Shit. I guess I was too preoccupied to pay attention.” I give her a look. “With you.”
She frowns. “If you’re trying to be sweet…”
“It’s true. I normally don’t forget to put the bloody lid on. If anything, it’s all your fault for being enticing.”
She rolls her eyes but grins. She takes my hand. “Come with me, naked and afraid man.”
Right. The naked thing.
Everything that’s happened post-sex hasn’t been my finest moment. No wonder the women are only around for one night.
But Amanda leads me back into the bedroom.
And even though I swear I’ll never be able to shake what happened, she’s pretty good at making me forget.
14
Amanda
It takes me a few moments to realize where I am. There’s a cushiony duvet wrapped around me, and under that, a warm, heavy arm around my side.
Blake’s arm.
Oh my god.
I wasn’t even drunk last night but it’s all coming back to me now in flashes.
Hot, filthy flashes.
Jesus O’Malley.
I feel like I’ve been hit by a big giant sex bus.
The things he did.
The things we did.
His tongue.
His cock.
Getting caught by the librarian.
Speeding away from the school, laughing, nervous, the stars above us, feeling so fucking crazy.
Coming back here, having him fuck me mercilessly again until I thought I was a prism, shattering with colors.
Then of course Fluffy.
I try not to think about that.
I turn my head to look at Blake, his face smashed into the pillow next to me, deep asleep. Like most people he looks different when he’s sleeping. Younger. Vulnerable. Sweet. Though I know Blake is anything but sweet. Sexy, funny, crude? Yes. Sweet? You must be mistaken.
Still, I like seeing him like this and being this close I can observe all the details without those eyes of his watching my every move. He’s got two small moles on the left side of his cheek, near his dimples, a smattering of faint freckles across his nose that I don’t think were there last month. They must come out with the sun. I lean in closer. There’s a faint scar above his upper lip that I bet he got in a fight or from some embarrassing childhood accident.
“Get a good look?” he mumbles.
I gasp in surprise and jerk my head back. He opens one eye and looks at me.
“Were you just pretending to be asleep?” I say softly, my heart thudding in my throat.
Half of his grin is buried by the pillow. “I wanted to see if you’d pull the cliché staring at your sex partner maneuver.”
“Sex partner?”
He closes his eyes and tries to shrug. “It’s early.”
“Well, now that you’re awake, I have to go pee,” I tell him, prying his heavy arm off of me. I crawl over him ungracefully and scamper to the bathroom, aware that I’m buck naked as I go. I can hear the bed squeaking lightly and he is so obviously turning around to watch me go. Thankfully I remember which door is the bathroom and I don’t disturb Satan’s hamster.
Once inside, I breathe a sigh of relief, taking in the cool masculinity of his bathroom, the privacy. I sit on the toilet and put my head in my hands and try to think.
But all I can do is smile.
I just had sex.
A lot of sex.
With someone other than Alan.
And it was the best fucking sex of my life.
And the guy who did it is lying in his bed, with his golden, toned body, all male, all in charge, and it’s the guy I never thought it would happen with.
I know I have two choices now. I can go back in there, tell him it was a mistake, and for the sake of our careers we shouldn’t do it again. Or I can go back in there and get royally, beautifully fucked again.
Decisions.
But a knock at the door brings me out of my thoughts.
“Are you decent?” Blake asks from the other side. “Or trying to climb out the window?”
I flush the toilet. “Just a minute,” I tell him, quickly washing my hands.
I open the door and he’s standing there completely nude, his dick looking spectacular even semi-hard. More images from last night flood my brain and I’m surprised at how fast I’m turning into a horny perv at the sight of a half-hard peen.
Of course I’m so distracted by that, that I forget I’m nude too. His eyes rake over my body, probing and relentless, and he gives me a lopsided grin. “I can’t believe I have you standing here naked in my bathroom,” he says, shaking his head. He then brushes past me. “I have to piss. Give me a second, then we’ll take a shower.”
Showering together? I quickly get out of the bathroom and find myself hovering in the hallway, unsure of what to do with myself. Again, I could tell him no.
Or I could shower with him.
I’ve never actually showered with a guy before. I’m not even sure if it’s supposed to lead to sex.
Might be good practice for the next book, I tell myself.
Or I could just run like hell.
The door opens a crack and he peers at me through it. “Good. Thought maybe you left.”
I didn’t even get a chance. “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him.
He opens the door wider and strides over to the shower, and even though I saw his ass a million times last night during the Fluffy escapade, it’s still a sight to behold.
What a fucking wonderful ass.
He turns around, the water running.
And an even better cock.
I mean. Damn. Seriously.
I could write an entire book about his cock.
In fact, I might have to.
I step into the shower, trying to shed any ounce of insecurity.
It’s all gone the moment he lays his hands on me.
Soap works its way over my body, over every crevice, his hands gentle with just enough pressure, sliding over my breasts, my stomach, my hips, my thighs.
When I’m slick as anything I return the favor.
I soap up every inch of him as I take it all in, marveling at this fine specimen, his body belonging to a Greek god. Not kidding. Even the overlooked male body parts like calves and feet are perfect. His feet are huge and well-groomed with clipped toenails and no toe hair. His calves are long and broad with the right pop of muscle. No chicken legs, which is such a rarity on guys his age.
Then there are his thighs, looking like they could be sculpted out of gold and on display in a museum as some sort of feat of athletic prowess.
His abs? Zac Efron worthy.
His ass? I can’t even go there. I could bounce quarters off it though. And I really, really want to sink my teeth into it, just to see what it feels like.
His back looks like he could rip a door off and throw it fifty feet.
Then again, his chest, shoulders, arms, all say the same thing.
He’s not what he would call a “roid monkey,” but I say he belongs on a book cover anyway. He’s fucking perfect, and way, way too hot for a girl like me.
And I’m going to take complete advantage of it.
He’s completely covered in foam from head to toe now.
“Rinse,” I tell him, hanging the sponge back up.
He raises his eyebrows, wiping the water from his face. “Bossy.”
But he steps into the stream, washing it off.
You see, I don’t want soap in my mouth.
And I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.
I get down on my knees, ignoring the hardness of the tiles and focusing on the hardness of his cock as it bobs in front of me, water rolling off the broad tip. I wrap my fingers around the thick base of his shaft, tentative at first. I can’t remember how Alan wanted to be touched when I gave him head, and Blake is so much more experienced. I don’t want to do it wrong.
I take in a deep breath, trying not to choke on the water, and slowly, carefully slide his tip through my lips. I let my eyes fall closed at the sound of his moan. The taste of him, mild in the water but still one hundred percent man, hits my tongue and spurs something deep inside of me, making me crave him even more.
“Shit,” he murmurs, voice breaking into a groan, placing one hand against the wall to keep himself upright, those abs of his straining.
I slide my lips to the end then stroke along the underside of his shaft with my tongue, feeling how hot his skin is, smoothing over every vein and rock-hard ridge.
“Look at me,” he whispers. “I want you to watch me watching you.”
Boldly, I look up and our eyes meet in a current of lust until I put him in my mouth again. It’s just too much for him. He pinches his eyes shut, forehead wrinkled, mouth dropping open as he sucks in air.
I want to take my time, watching him slowly succumb to me. There’s so much power in my hands and nothing more intoxicating than knowing you’re bringing a man to the edge. Blowjobs are not only underrated, they’re addictive, and I can easily see myself having a bit of a cock craving when it comes to him. Or a lot of a cock craving. Whatever.
The moans that come out of his mouth now as I work him steadily with my hands, lips, and tongue, are becoming lower, like they’re rising from a deeper, more animalistic side of him. I saw parts of this side last night and I want more of it. I want to see Blake surrender to me completely. I want to see him change into an animal with just one craving: me.
His legs stiffen and his body becomes strained, the tension building inside him. I glance up and our eyes meet briefly and his glazed expression tells me that he’s in awe, that at least for now, he’s mine and at my mercy.
I should be gentle with him.
But I’m not.
If anything, I’m emboldened.
My fist moves faster, slick and wet over his hot length, and my free hand moves up his legs until they find his perfectly groomed balls. I tug lightly, testing him.
“Fuck!” he cries out hoarsely. “I’m coming. I’m coming.”
I try not to smile, knowing now what triggers him. His cock becomes hotter, his skin stretched under my lips, and I keep going as I feel him change in my grasp.
Every muscle in his body stills, frozen, as the orgasm hits him, then suddenly he’s panting, his breath rough and ragged, and his cum is shooting into my mouth, almost to the back of my throat.
I swallow almost immediately, even though being in a shower is the perfect excuse to spit. But fuck it, he has no problems ingesting me, and when I’m all in, I’m all in. I want every part of Blake, not just some.
“My fucking god,” he rasps, leaning against the shower wall, the water still spraying on us.
I
carefully get up, my knees aching, trying not to slip on the slick tiles.
I place a soft kiss on his rounded shoulder.
He slowly turns to look at me, his eyes sated, his hair wet and flattened over his head, looking so goddamn beautiful.
“You,” he whispers, sounding amazed. “Look at you.”
I’m not sure what I look like, my lips swollen from sucking, my skin soaked, my hair sticking down my back.
But whatever he sees, he makes me feel like I couldn’t be more beautiful.
When we’re all clean and dry, it’s tempting to just fall back into bed again. But Blake has to go to the bookstore to work for a few hours.
“You could keep me company,” he offers as we get in Mr. Mean.
“I’d love to pop in for a second,” I tell him, very conscious of not being that girl who gets clingy after sex. I’ve learned some things from Rio. “But I’ve got some errands I have to do in town. I can take the bus back to the school to get my car after.”
He frowns. “You sure? I can drive you home when my shift is over.”
I smile reassuringly, giving him a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry about it. But thank you.”
“So,” I say to him as we cruise down the busy streets of downtown, looking for parking. “What do you think your dad would say if he knew what we were doing?”
“He’d say, way to go, Son, she’s gorgeous.”
“I meant about the books. And would he really say that?”
He gives me a look. “Let’s not go there. But books? He’d say I’m contributing to something that ruined his life,” he says glibly. “What would your parents say?”
“They’d say I’m dragging the family name through the mud. Then they’d say that they’re terrible parents and don’t know where they went wrong and wonder why both their children ended up being such nonconformists.” I pause. “Then my mother would tell me I’m going to hell.”
“Tall order,” he says. “Another reason to keep Blake Lovecox a secret until the end of time.”
“Or at least until we get a movie deal.”
“Agreed.”
Despite how busy the city is with tourists, the bookstore is actually pretty quiet.
“I thought summer was your busy season,” I say.
“It is. Usually when the Clipper ferry or the cruise ships get in. Give it another hour.” He leans in close to me. “If it wasn’t for that, this store would have gone under long ago.”
