by Tara Brown
“Okay, that’s fair. I will give you that one. He’s a moron. But in London, you’re the one who said you didn’t want us to say each other’s names. If anyone was playing games it was you. And when we met again in the bar you also ignored me. That was hurtful.”
“You ignored me first. And in London you were drunk and had lipstick from some other girl on your suit and cheek. What was I supposed to do, look past that? Of course I didn’t want your name, you still smelled like the other girl. It was gross.”
“Says the girl who was covered in ale from flashing her tits. Like you’re so much classier.”
“I never pretended to be something I wasn’t. Ass. But you asked me where I was from and made fun of me being from the East Coast on purpose because you knew me. And then you pretended my name was Deb. You’re a weirdo and you might have the others fooled, but I see it.”
“Deb is short for debutante, Your Highness. You are a deb. We both know that. I was at your cotillion, I was an escort that year.”
“OH MY GOD! I KNEW IT! I KNEW I KNEW YOU!” she bursts, slapping me on the chest hard with both hands. “I knew I knew you! You escorted Elinda, that chick whose parents got a divorce and the dad came out that he was actually gay and her mom has been his beard all these years. Her family’s a hot mess. I couldn’t believe you escorted her after all that. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you because I seriously remember her hideous dress clear as a bell.”
“Jesus.” I don’t fight the look on my face. “You really are exactly who you pretend to be.”
“What?” Her voice gets high-pitched. “And that means what exactly? Who did I pretend to be? Is this because I didn’t remember you? You’re that pathetic? I meet a lot of people and checking out other girls’ dates isn’t exactly my style.” She almost spits in my face she’s so angry. She leans right in, her breath becoming my air.
“You think I care that you didn’t remember me?” The conversation is going backward. We aren’t fixing it. We’re making it worse, and I’m not helping at all by hovering over her, even if she doesn’t back down. She’s so small compared to me, but she might as well be ten feet tall for the ferocity in her eyes. “I couldn’t care less that you didn’t know me. And I should be asking you the same question: why are you so pissed? Is it because we kissed and I pretended we didn’t know each other or is it because I didn’t fall all over you? Huh? You’re so used to having guys fall at your feet that you can’t handle one not giving you the time of day? I’m so sorry, Highness. I’ll remember to bow next time I’m in your presence.”
“Fuck you!” Her eyes widen but she doesn’t match me with venom. She turns and storms off, leaving me there regretting every single fucking word. I hate being the last one to say something mean. It’s always what both people think about from then on. She’s the victim and I’m the asshole because I spoke last.
“Fuck!” I signal the bartender. “Two shots of bourbon.”
He brings them over and I knock one back before my body wins and I head in the direction she’s gone. Fortunately, she’s storming to the back in heels and my legs are longer.
I’m almost caught up when she hurries past the bathrooms to the very back of the club and out the doors to the alley. She is huffing and muttering when she glances back to find me hot on her trail. “Go away!”
“This isn’t over! You have things you wanna say, so say them!”
“I have nothing to say to you.” Again, we lean in on each other threateningly.
“You know, I can’t believe I EVER thought you were different than all the other spoiled little girls in this world. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, when in reality you’re the worst of them all. You think your looks and money should let you get away with treating people like shit? Well, that’s not how the world works, little girl.” I point my finger right in her face.
“ARE YOU REALLY SO SAD THAT YOU NEED AN APOLOGY, CAVEMAN? FINE! I ACTED LIKE A DICK! I CALLED YOU BLUE COLLAR! I’M SORRY! I DIDN’T REMEMBER YOU! I’M SORRY! I PUKED ON YOU, IT WAS WRONG! I’M SORRY! I WAS DRUNK AS HELL! AT LEAST I HAVE THAT AS AN EXCUSE! WHAT’S YOURS FOR PREYING ON A DRUNK GIRL IN LONDON AND CHARMING HER WITH ALL THE THINGS YOU KNEW? ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? YOU GOT YOUR APOLOGY, BEAST?” Her eyes burn as she unleashes all her rage.
“No!” I step in closer, maintaining my cool. “I don’t think anything you could possibly say would make me happy. You don’t care about anyone but yourself, and your apology was pathetic.” We are close enough that I feel her growled exhales on my face again, and I’m certain she can feel mine.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Matt”—she takes a deep breath and her eyes get to that crazy place where only girls can go—“I’m sorry I ever met you!”
“Oh really, are you?” I mock her.
“I am. I wouldn’t care if you were the last person on earth, I still couldn’t care less than I do about you.” She leers at me and if looks could kill, this one would have me on fire.
I lean in even more, roaring my sentence back, “I feel exactly the same way, Your Highness!”
Maybe it’s the bourbon. Or the beer. Or the raw passion seething out of both of us. Or just the fact our faces are inches apart and I’m breathing her in.
Whatever it is, a switch clicks on in me.
My hands are on her arms and my lips crash down on hers as I lift her up into me. She kisses back, moaning softly, “I hate you!”
“I know, baby. I hate you too. But you feel so good.” I suck her lip, letting her breath become my air.
We were screaming and ranting and my body is still vibrating with hate, but I don’t want to stop.
I contemplate pulling back but her hands almost rip the hair right off my head as she slams me with force against the door we’ve just come out of.
We explode on each other in a dirty alley against a concrete wall.
She climbs my body while I grab a lot of ass and haul her into the air, cupping her perfect butt as she wraps around me.
Her nails dig into the back of my neck making it all hurt so good.
She fits in my arms the way I imagined she would. We kiss and I can’t stand the thought of fucking Sami Ford in an alley.
I carry her and walk to the corner, away from the club. I lift my phone out of my pocket with great difficulty as I plant kisses on her neck and she makes attempts at eating me. I send a text asking Charles to track my phone and bring the limo with the partition closed and music high.
He knows what it means, but he doesn’t know what this moment means to me.
Chapter Eight
Third Time’s a Charm
Sami
His hands are huge with thick, strong fingers. Them cupping my ass is one thing, but I can’t wait to see them on my body, or in it.
Our kissing isn’t like our first time; it’s not soft or passionate. It’s desperate and savage. There’s biting and viciousness. Hate fuels every movement, every taste, but I don’t care. I want more. He makes my stomach tense in a way I can’t stand, but I don’t want it to stop.
Matt sucks my bottom lip in, dragging his teeth along it. I wiggle out of his arms as he lowers himself into my neck and kisses and bites softly, even pulling my shirt off to the side so he can get to my shoulder.
I’m mid gasp when a car pulls up.
He shoves me back with his chest against mine, directing me like we’re dancing until we get to a limo. He presses me against the side of it as he fumbles with the door. When he gets it open he pulls me to him, he kisses once more before pushing me inside. I sit, trying to get my breath and find the reason I am here.
He climbs in across from me and we stare at one another. I don’t know if he’s freaking out but I am.
We’re alone and not touching and all the feelings that were so real in the bar and the alley are gone, replaced by inexplicable lust.
I hate him, but I don’t want to get out, not until I think about the fact the car is here. All the plays in his book come to life the moment I pause and look
around me. “You were texting while we were kissing? You texted your car?” I drum my nails on the leather seat as we drive off. “Smart.” Shit.
“Yeah.” His eyes burn through me.
Music turns on as if by magic, but it’s his driver setting the mood for him. It sort of kills the mood for me. Matt’s done this before, a lot. It’s too fluid and too predictable. It makes me feel predictable and cheap. I hate this feeling. I don’t even like one-night stands anymore. I like one-night make outs where we both leave feeling disappointed.
Linda’s voice rings in my head, reminding me that the only way someone is going to see my worth is if I show them how I am to be treated.
Letting a dirty hockey player fuck me in his limo, like he does all the other girls, might not be the signal I want to send.
“We doing this or what?” He narrows his dark-green gaze.
“Uhhh—” I vaguely recall him saying that to me previously. “What?” I can’t remember what I said to him before.
“You look like you’re having second thoughts.”
“There’s just so much left unsaid between us, and I left Nat at the bar. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t.” I need to get out of here before I ring a bell I can’t unring. He’s hot but my feelings for him are fairly set. I can’t be in this limo, staring at the way his shirtsleeves cling to his biceps. I can’t be thinking about that kiss. I have to remember I hate him.
“She’s with her boyfriend. She’s fine.”
“They’re fighting and she’s drunk. I have to get back.”
“You want to leave because you hate me?”
“And you hate me.” I wish I could be mean again but the kiss is so much of why I’m in this car, like he’s the pied piper of the butterflies inside me.
“I don’t hate you. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Believe me, I have tried.”
I almost bite a hole in my lip staring at his. The tension in the car could be cut and served on fine bone china.
“Stay with me.” He whispers it with a hint of pleading. His eyes bore through me and I let myself consider staying.
How bad is it really to let a dirty hockey player fuck me in a limo? Really? In the grand scheme of things, it’s not that bad. Sometimes a girl just needs to get laid, whether Linda agrees or not.
Exhaling all of my will to leave, I sit back in the leather seat, unsure of where this is going to start or how. He looks like he’s ready to attack and I worry I need to brace for two hundred and forty pounds of six-foot-three man beast.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he sits back like me, giving me that lazy grin, the one he gave me the first time we met. I tense.
“Am I going to fuck you until you can’t see straight or not?”
I exhale twice more before I nod. “Yup.” My answer takes up all the space between us.
Space we remain frozen in.
Maybe he doesn’t know what to do with the consent. I know I don’t. I’ve said it, but I don’t know where to go from here. I can’t make the first move. I won’t.
We stare at each other, waiting for the other person to do something.
He opens his mouth like he might speak, but instead holds his breath for ten Mississippis before he comes forward, hesitantly, dropping to his knees. He slides across the space between us, lithely for such a large person, past the answer I gave to his dirty question.
He pauses at my legs, his warm hands touching them cautiously. He rubs my knees, digging his fingertips in, before he deliberately spreads them open as wide as my skirt will go. His fingers crawl up my bare thighs, sending shivers through me. The warmth of his rough hands leaves a fiery trail on the inside of my thighs.
When he gets to my plain white underwear he grins. “Laundry day?”
“No.” I blush even though I have always defended a woman’s right to wear tighty whities. “I just really like white cotton underwear.” I laugh. “And I honestly didn’t think I was staying out longer than an hour, maybe two.”
“You weren’t planning on going home with anyone?” He brushes a finger over the middle of the underwear and nods when I gasp.
I shake my head; my mouth is pressed shut.
“But you’ve thought about this, even if you hate me. You’ve thought about me fucking you.” He softly drags his wide thumb up and down the thin fabric.
“No,” I gasp again as he moves in a light circular motion, staring straight at me.
“Yes, you have. I have too. I’ve thought about you for a long time.”
I can’t take the intensity of his stare mixed with the admission, so I close my eyes and let my head fall back as my breaths fill with subtle moans. He almost tickles as he moves to the side of the underwear, slipping his finger beneath the cloth. He slows again, running the length of my slit as my body becomes like a pincushion. Every tiny nerve is lit inside me.
He pauses after a moment, forcing me to open my eyes and glance down just as he drags my underwear to the side, exposing me. “You have a beautiful pussy.” He traces my lips with his wide thumb again, staring for a heartbeat before he lowers his face between my legs. I spread farther to accommodate his body, but he lifts my calves onto his shoulders and buries himself in me.
I can’t fight crying out when his warm mouth lands on me, covering me in heat as he flicks and sucks until he’s right—I can’t see straight.
My hips move against his face, grinding in a circle as everything builds. He slides one of those meaty fingers into me, gently at first and then building in speed until his fist is bumping against my ass and his tongue is flicking me.
Everything peaks and maintains at exactly the right spot. My hands grip the leather seats and I make more noise than I want to.
His finger pumping in and out jerks me, cutting off each moan with a grunt.
He increases his pace, building up to a proper fucking.
My body tenses and tightens around him, quivering as he presses down hard on my clit with his thumb but keeps his finger thrusting. My back arches and my toes curl, and I nearly snap a nail off on the leather seat as the orgasm rocks me from every direction.
I don't get the break I might need.
The moment I’m done, he’s up and pulling a condom on his already bobbing cock. I don't really get to see it and am uncertain of the size or girth when he puts my feet on his shoulders and grins. “Ready for the finale?”
I bite my lip and nod.
He rubs himself against me for a second before pushing in. I clench down at the wrong moment and his girth stretches me.
“Relax,” he reassures me. “I’ll go slow.” He gets the head in first, slowly dipping it in and pulling out, allowing my body to adjust to the difference between his finger and his cock.
Working us both, he groans when his hips hit my ass. His huge hands knead my thighs as he uses my legs as his grip bars, pulling me into him and meeting me with a steady pace.
He doesn't rush.
He savors the entire trip in and out of me, which is my favorite. I hate being banged unless it’s from behind.
His eyes meet mine in an awkward moment of thrusting and groaning, but our stare stays on one another. I can’t look away. He’s inside me, pressing down on me, and somehow he finds his way into my mind as well.
My exhales slow with the pace, adjusting for moaning as we move like a ship on the waves, rocking and groaning.
The pained expression, the trouble in his stormy dark-green eyes, consumes me. I almost experience what it’s like being inside me, his eyes are so expressive. He’s in blissful agony as he reaches down, letting my legs fall wide to the sides. He pulls me to him and scoops me up, sitting back at the same time so I can ride him.
Before we were sort of banging, just enjoying it more than a real pounding. But now something else is happening. There’s savoring where there should be using. The hate has melted away; it can’t take the heat of this. I barely can.
My fingers drape over his head, clinging to him. His hands grip
my ass, lifting me up and down on his cock at the same pace I ride him, but his arms encase me in him. We’re sweating and pressing into each other’s faces, breathing each other’s exhales and sweat. His teeth find my shoulder again, gently nibbling as he trails my neck to my cheek. He reaches up, swallowing one of my boobs in his hand, massaging and grinding into me and me him.
His shaft is long and thick and the ride up and down rubs all the good spots inside me.
I move a little faster. Being on top I control the one place I really want him to get to. I don't need his whole cock for it so I bob.
“No.” His eyes shut for a second as he shakes his head. “I’m gonna come, stop.”
Ignoring him, I quicken my pace, also about to climax. His hands grip and try to pull me all the way down and hold me still but my orgasm is here. I force the movements for us both, whimpering into his ear and gripping his head as a second wave of everything hits me.
He realizes what’s happening and moves with me, doing exactly what I want. But the moment I exhale through the last of my orgasm, he’s done. He wants to fuck, or rather make me fuck him. I’m forced to bounce on his balls while he thrusts like a warrior. It’s Game of Thrones but the Upper East Side version. He holds me so tight I’m sure I’ll have bruises on my hips as he jerks into me repeatedly.
When he’s completely done, we clench each other, neither of us moving except to tremble and shudder with delight.
I don't know what to say because I don’t know which version of us is the truth. One moment we were screaming and then we were oddly and uncomfortably civil and now we’re this.
I insulted him and told him I hated him and now he’s inside me in every way, and I have a feeling I’m inside of him.
I want to go back to oddly civil but I don’t know how.
As I cling to him I feel like I might be forbidding him to move because I don't want to face him. We didn't just fuck. We did something else that I’m not comfortable with: we admitted something big to each other with a stare. It’s as if he knows all my secrets. My eyes betrayed me when they whispered them all to him. The way we gaped at each other, got lost in each other, erases all the petty hate. It explains the intense way I felt about him, good and bad. The passion is there between us, whether we use it for good or bad, it’s there just like I knew it would be. When we kissed in the cab two and a half years ago, I suspected this is what this would be like and now we’re here.
