by Lisa Suzanne
He leaned in toward me, his white polo shirt turning me off as his breath warmed my cheek. “So what do you do?” He seemed nervous, which was another turn-off. I liked solid, confident men.
“Don’t,” I barely glanced in his direction.
Okay, that was bitchy even for me. But I didn’t want this guy getting the wrong idea. I wasn’t interested, and I had to make that perfectly clear.
“Don’t what? Make conversation?”
I looked him square in the eye. “Don’t pretend like you’re interested.”
“Who said I’m interested?” he challenged.
“The way your eyes keep flicking down to my tits kind of indicates your level of interest.”
A blush colored his cheeks, and he looked away. “Excuse me,” he said, and then he got up from the table and left me alone.
Good.
I glanced up to see if Tyler noticed that I had been talking to another guy. His eyes focused on a busty brunette sitting at the bar.
I pulled my phone out of my purse. I couldn’t exactly ditch the table considering Avery had left her purse when she ran off to dance, and I had a full drink, anyway.
I had one new text from my brother: Are you going to lunch tomorrow?
Shit. I had totally forgotten that my parents had invited us for a barbeque the next day. Yes. Forgot about it. Thanks for the reminder.
Think they will care if I bring someone? I pondered that for a second. My brother was two years older than me, and he’d been playing the field for as long as he’d been playing.
Like a date? They’ll be thrilled.
His reply came fast. Not a date. A friend.
Sure. See you tomorrow.
I saw Avery making out with Dorky Dark Hair, and that was my cue. I threw back the rest of my drink, tapped her on the shoulder to check that she was really okay as I delivered her purse to her, and then headed outside to grab a cab home.
My mind wandered to Tyler, and I found myself turned on just thinking about him, especially when the cab hit some bumps in the road as I sat in the backseat. Maybe he acted like an ass half of the time, but he really did know what he was doing when it came to the bedroom.
It took my very best efforts to control myself. I’d be home in ten short minutes, and then I had the rest of the night with my bed and my vibrator.
My cell phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts.
You free tonight? It was from Tyler.
Just heading home, I replied.
Head toward my place instead.
Are you done working?
Yes. Didn’t have to close tonight.
I told the cab driver the new address, thinking that Ty was a better alternative than my vibrator.
But my vibrator didn’t talk back.
I arrived at Ty’s apartment fifteen minutes later and paid the driver. I was just tipsy enough to know that this was going to be a lot of fun.
I knocked on his door, and he opened it. He wore just a snug pair of jeans, and he looked delicious. I took in the view: longish dark hair that was the perfect length for me to grab, dark eyes, and plenty of tattoos. He had a sleeve down one arm and a half sleeve down the other. These sexy birds spanned across his abdomen that I could spend hours licking… which I usually did.
We weren’t close enough for him to explain the meaning of each piece of art he had permanently etched onto his skin, but I certainly enjoyed staring at the finished product.
I sighed in pleasure as I looked at him, and he reached out to grab my arm and pull me into his living room. His lips came crashing down onto mine. He was scruffier than normal, and something about the way his facial hair tickled my lips as his mouth opened to mine made me hotter for him than I’d been in a long time.
“Fuck, Quinn,” he pulled back and tore my shirt over my head. He grabbed my breasts and I let him. He was sexy like this, when he was horny as hell and his attention was focused on me. If he wasn’t such an asshole, if he could focus his attention on me outside of the bedroom, maybe I’d consider him for a relationship.
But that just wasn’t Ty.
Boys with tattoos just did it for me, and as he unbuckled those jeans that made my mouth water, I found myself panting with need for him.
“On your knees,” he commanded quietly, and I followed his directions. Just like that first night we’d met, he yanked his jeans down just enough to pull out the delicious length he kept hidden in his black boxers, and he pushed it into my mouth. I didn’t have the chance to start slow as he pushed himself in and out, gripping the hair on the back of my head and holding me in place while he fucked my mouth. I just stayed there and took it, inching my fingers down my panties to relieve some of the pressure that was building between my legs.
Ty batted my arm away. “That’ll be mine,” he said darkly, and then he pushed his dick to the back of my throat, making my eyes water. He groaned loudly, and delivering him so much pleasure was nearly enough to make me come.
I sucked hard on him, and he moaned again. “Fucking naughty girl,” he murmured. He pulled back before jamming forward again, and then he picked up his pace.
All I could do was take what he gave me, all the while simply becoming more and more turned on. I grinded against myself, trying anything to alleviate the burning need I had. I was out of control with lust for Ty.
He pulled out of my mouth and grabbed me under the arms, hauling me up from my spot on the floor. I jumped him and wrapped my legs around his waist, and he walked us over to his couch. He deposited me on it and then sunk to the floor.
His hot mouth was on me, and he moaned and whispered dirty things while he licked his way through my pussy. “Fuck, you taste so sweet,” he said, swiping his tongue through me. I jerked on the couch, and he pushed two fingers inside of me as his lips took hold of my clit.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, enjoying the ride and yelling out Ty’s name repeatedly when he hit a spot that felt particularly good.
He stood and wrapped a condom around his engorged cock, and then he slid into my soaked warmth, finally giving me the rough fuck I’d been craving.
He leaned forward to brace himself on the back of the couch as he propelled into me with powerful strength. I arched my hips up to meet his hungry drives, and he muttered expletives as he fucked me. “Your pussy is so fucking tight,” he grunted.
“You love it,” I moaned back at him.
“I do. I fucking love being inside of you.”
And as I shattered into a raging orgasm that shook my body from head to toe, I knew that Ty fucking me was the only thing he would ever love about me.
CHAPTER 4
The next morning I awoke alone with a feeling of guilt. I slept well because after Ty had kicked me out of his place and paid for my cab ride, I arrived home and immediately poured myself two more shots of tequila. Slept well or passed out, I wasn’t sure; but, regardless, I awoke alone.
Ty was Ty. I knew what to expect from him: Good sex and nothing more. We had both made that very clear from the beginning, but it didn’t stop the hurt feelings when he told me that he had a nice time but that it was time for me to go. And paying my cab fare just made me feel like a hooker. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, and I knew that was why he did it. The nicer thing would’ve been to drive me home himself, or to let me stay the night, but Ty wasn’t a “let the girl stay the night” kind of guy.
I deserved better, but I wasn’t ready to go on that mission to find better. Ty was great for passing the time until I was ready to move onto something else. I was certain that I was holding myself back with these meaningless flings and that I needed to cut the waste from my life, but Ty was kind of addictive.
Shit, just the way he went down on me was kind of addictive.
If only he had the ability to let me stay with him awhile after having his way with me.
If only every night was like the night before, when we both got our pleasure before our night ended.
Sometimes he really was
very sweet. Sometimes he held me before telling me to go, and sometimes he texted me during the week just to let me know he was thinking about me. But more often than not, the only time I felt like I was on his mind was when we were about to get naked.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to glance at the clock. I groaned when I realized that I had to be at my parents’ house in less than thirty minutes. I turned over and buried my head in my pillow, the morning effects of the regrettable tequila shots I’d done the night before hitting me at full force.
My phone buzzed. I lifted my head from its dark cocoon and picked up the offending device from my night table. I opened the picture text from Avery to find a man’s bare ass and this message: It looked better last night through beer goggles.
I giggled, not recognizing the sheets the man was buried in. Clearly Avery had gone home the night before with Dorky Dark Hair. I figured she’d regale me with the story on Monday morning.
I forced myself out of bed and took a long, hot shower. I breathed in the steam, hoping it would help alleviate the scratchiness in the back of my throat.
I only had five minutes to get to my parents’ house on time when I got out of the shower. Instead of rushing, I texted my mom that I was going to be late, and then I started my coffee pot for some much needed caffeine.
While the coffee brewed, I impatiently chugged a diet Coke.
Patience just wasn’t one of my virtues. I scrapped my naturally curly and now frizzy hair back into a messy ponytail after it finished air-drying, and I decided to skip the make-up. I was just hanging with my family, and they loved me no matter how I looked.
I pulled into my parents’ driveway just behind my brother’s car. I was almost an hour late; so sue me. Timeliness was another one of those virtues I was missing.
I let myself in and heard my dad’s booming laughter.
You know how some women who sleep around have “daddy” issues? Not me. I was a total daddy’s girl. My dad was a big man who did everything big. He gave big bear hugs and had a hearty laugh that made me smile every time I heard it. He was kind, he was a fantastic dad, and he was a loving husband to my mom. As I walked toward the voices, I realized not for the first time how lucky I was to have the family that I did.
Sure, my brother and I still argued over stupid shit, and my mom and I bickered all the time back when I was a teenager. But I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
I saw Grant first. He was my brother, so I couldn’t really judge his appearance, but Avery badgered me constantly about hooking her up with him. I told her that he was off limits. He was my brother, for God’s sake, not a random guy she met in a bar.
Besides, I couldn’t fathom the idea of my brother having sex, let alone having it with one of my friends. The thought disgusted me.
My mom stood and walked toward me to give me a hug when she saw me enter the room, and I locked eyes with my dad, who winked at me.
And then I noticed the guy with dark blonde hair sitting at the table.
He turned around to face me and something about him was oddly familiar.
Surprised blue eyes hidden behind black framed glasses.
A white polo shirt tucked neatly into khaki pants.
I tugged at my ponytail, tightening my hair in the band, suddenly self-conscious and not sure why. Okay, I was kind of sure why. This blonde guy stared at me like he knew me, and then the next word out of his mouth confirmed that he did. “Quinn?”
Shit. He knew my name?
Who the hell was this guy, and why did he look so familiar?
“Reed. From the bar last night?”
Recognition dawned. Ah yes, the preppy guy who bought me a shot and whose name I immediately forgot.
What the fuck was he doing at my parents’ house?
“How do you two know each other?” Grant looked back and forth between us.
I glanced at my brother. “We don’t,” I said at the same time Preppy said, “We met last night at Strikers.”
My mom rolled her eyes. “Really, Quinn? Strikers?”
I shrugged. “What?” My voice was defiant. I was a goddamn adult and I could do what I goddamn wanted to do.
So maybe the swearing in my head disproved my point, but I didn’t give one tiny little fuck.
“Strikers is fine, Mom. It’s a nice place.”
“You and Avery,” she huffed, and I grinned when I saw my dad roll his eyes at my mom, too.
“What’s for lunch?” I asked, changing the subject and deflecting the attention from my Friday night activities.
“Burgers,” my dad said. “Ready for me to start the grill?”
My mom nodded, and she headed to the kitchen while my dad went outside to fire it up. I sat at the round table across from my brother, one seat away from Preppy so I wouldn’t have to look him in the eye.
“So, Curley Q,” my brother began, using the nickname that he knew I hated, “what’s new?”
“I have a better question, Grump.” He raised his brows in my direction at my shortened term of endearment for Grumpy Grant. “How do you know this guy?” I jammed my thumb toward Preppy.
“This guy has a name,” Preppy interjected, but I ignored him.
“We work together. He just got transferred into my office and he’s staying with me until he finds somewhere permanent.”
“So you decided to bring him to our family lunch?”
“Quinn, don’t be a bitch.”
I rolled my eyes and glanced at Preppy. He watched the exchange between Grant and me with rapt attention.
“Fuck off.” I tossed a middle finger in my brother’s direction.
“Careful. Mom and Dad might hear their sweet little girl using that language.”
I smirked at my brother and saw Preppy staring me down.
“Reed Porter, this is my darling sister, Quinn. Quinn, Reed.”
Porter. Preppy Porter. The nickname worked and I hadn’t even known his last name.
I glared at my brother and then pursed my lips in Reed’s direction. “So nice to meet you,” I said with sugary sweetness. I was being catty, but suddenly I felt like I was on the defensive. My parents’ house had always represented somewhat of a sanctuary for me.
“We met last night,” Reed reminded me.
I rolled my eyes with insolence. “Whatever.”
Grant grinned. “I’ll leave you two to get to know each other. Reed, want another beer?”
I glanced down and saw his bottle was empty. He nodded, and Grant left.
“So are you always this bitchy? Or is it just when you’re drunk or hung over?”
“Are you always this preppy?” I imitated his condescending tone. “Or just when you go to bars or crash family lunches?”
He smiled. “I suppose the answer is yes.”
What the hell was it about this guy’s face that just managed to piss me right off?
“Sorry, but I’m not going to apologize for, as you eloquently put it, ‘crashing’ your family’s lunch,” he said.
God, he couldn’t even get slang right. “I think you mean ‘sorry not sorry.’”
He looked at me curiously. “Huh?”
“Never mind. I’m getting a drink,” I said, standing. I could feel his eyes on my tits again. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. I crossed my arms over my chest and avoided looking in his direction as I headed to the kitchen. If I could just avoid him for the rest of lunch, I could go home and sleep off the hangover that was suddenly a little worse than it had been before I’d gotten to my parents’ house.
I helped myself to two Tylenol from my mom’s medicine cabinet in the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. Wine always calmed my nerves, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why I suddenly had nerves. I set my wine on the counter, grabbed my purse, and headed to the bathroom. I gazed at myself in the mirror, suddenly embarrassed at my appearance. My hair was messy, wisps of it falling from my ponytail, and I had circles shadowing my eyes. I looked tired, but worse, I loo
ked like crap with no make-up. I hadn’t expected there to be a guest at my parents’ house.
And then I realized that it was stupid to even care about my appearance. It was just Reed. Preppy Porter. Not like it was someone I cared about.
I thought about putting on some make-up. Lord knows I carried plenty of it in my purse. But he didn’t deserve the satisfaction. He didn’t deserve one ounce of my attention.
So why was I giving him so much of it?
I finished up in the bathroom and headed back out, choosing to hang on the patio with my dad over hanging inside with Preppy and my annoying as fuck brother.
Lunch was awkward. I was sulking, Grant was grinning, Reed was squirming, and my parents were shooting each other looks across the table. I ate my burger as fast as I could, but I had the ingrained manners to wait until everyone finished before I got up to clear my plate. I was silent through the meal, and I wasn’t sure why I was so annoyed by Reed. I wasn’t sure why I was giving him a moment of my thoughts.
Yet I was.
Finally our interminable meal ended. I wanted to head right out and go home to crash, but it just didn’t work out that way.
My parents thought it would be a great idea to get out the Cornhole game, or, as I liked to call it, “Backyard Beanbag Game,” so I was stuck. We drew for teams, and it was just my fucking luck. I ended up on a team with mother fucking Reed. Rabid Reed? I was trying out new nicknames. Rude Reed? Regular Reed? Repulsive Reed?
I was sticking with Preppy Porter for the moment.
The object of Cornhole was to throw a beanbag thirty or so feet across the yard and make it land through a small hole on a board. Landing the beanbag on the board counted for a point, too. I grew up with this game, so I was somewhat of an expert. And I was also quite competitive, especially when it came to playing against my big brother.
But I ended up on a team with loser Preppy, so I already resigned myself to the fact that my team would lose.
I stood next to Grant, who teamed up with my dad. Preppy stood across from me, and my mom sat at the patio table keeping score.
Grant kept muttering ridiculously immature comments under his breath as we played, just loud enough for me to hear and no one else.
