Loud: The Complete Series (A Bad Boy Alpha Male Romance)

by Claire Adams

“Umm, can you ask another question?”

  “You can drink if you don't wanna answer, but I'm not gonna change the question.” His focus intensified.

  “Alright, I'll answer. Yes. I would.”

  He shifted closer to me on the sofa. His hand brushed against mine and, instinctively, I opened my hand to allow him to slip his fingers through mine. Locked in his gaze, blood pounded in my temples, heat rushed through my limbs as he moved in closer.

  “Do you really mean that?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Then… I guess…” he slipped his free hand around my neck and tangled his fingers in my hair. “I guess there's only one way to know if you’re telling the truth,” he whispered as he leaned in and covered my lips softly with his.

  There was a brief moment of resistance on my part — a fleeting moment, the last brick in my wall coming down and settling in a cloud of dust. I parted my lips and allowed his tongue to explore. The taste of wine rushed over me as our tongues moved in a shifting, gentle dance. He pulled me closer as we kissed, his hand gently moved to cup my face. Possessed of its own will, my hand glided up to caress his magnificently solid chest. It was just as statuesque in feeling as it looked.

  He began to run his hands up and down my back, brushing the skin ever so lightly with his fingertips. Every subtle touch sent shivers of pleasure rippling along the surface of my skin.

  We parted, both gasping for breath after the intensity of the kiss. He looked as if he was going to say something, to hesitate, but then his expression changed. Instead, he leaned in and kissed the side of my neck. His lips grazed along my throat, nibbling and biting with just enough force to tantalize and set me aflame with want.

  His hands began exploring more of me as his tongue trailed kisses back up my neck until his lips found mine once more. I ran my fingers in every direction I could find, caressing his back, which was just as solid as the rest of his body. Every time his lips touched my skin or his hands traced along the outside of my breast, I felt a fresh surge of pleasure shudder through my body.

  I gasped softly; his touch had just the right amount of force balanced with gentleness. It was apparent he knew how to touch a woman's body.

  I felt my hands slipping down, returning to trickle over his gloriously ripped midsection, mirroring the gentle, yet arousing, touches he was planting on my body.

  Moans of pleasure slipped from his mouth as he continued to scatter kisses down my neck and shoulders. As I moved my hands farther south, his mouth began to wander downward. He slipped the strap of my dress down over my shoulder just enough to expose what he was after. His thumb deliberately brushed across my nipple as it hardened, prompting sharp, drawn-in breaths of pleasure from me.

  He traced a heated trail down across my belly with his hand and moved his mouth from my shoulder. “I can stop any time you want me to,” he breathed into my ear.

  “Never,” I gasped, and his warm mouth made its way down to my breast, replacing his thumb. As his tongue danced playfully around my nipple, I could feel an intense arousal coming on. A heat I had not felt for a long, long time was now pulsing its intensity between my legs. The fire of the alcohol in my blood was working its madness through my veins and amplifying my arousal.

  As he began to slip his hand up my inner thigh, he hesitated.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, panting with the force of his own arousal.

  “Don't stop,” I hissed. “Whatever you do, don't you dare stop. I want this. I want you, Emerson.”

  He stared directly into my eyes with a gaze that could have liquefied steel, and then he kissed me again, deeply and passionately. I had never been kissed with such emotion.

  His hand slid into my panties and I shuddered. “Oh my God, you're so wet,” his voice was husky through our kissing.

  I gripped his wrist as he started to move his fingers up and down, rubbing and caressing in a slow, even rhythm. A steadily-building tsunami of pleasure began growing with each deft stroke of his fingers. I slid my hand into his underwear and gripped what I found: the full, throbbing hardness of his own arousal. I started to move my hand in rhythm with how he was working my body until he started to gasp and moan as we kissed.

  I managed to pull my lips from his for just long enough to speak.

  “My room, now,” I ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I stood and hurried to my room as he padded along behind me. As soon as he was inside, I pushed the door shut, stripped my dress off, and stood before him in only my panties.

  “My God, you're gorgeous,” he exhaled. “You're so utterly, utterly beautiful.”

  “So are you,” I breathed as I made my way toward him.

  The wine was pounding its roaring arousal through me with hurricane force. I stood before him and slid my panties to the floor. I traced a line down his abs until I locked a finger in the band of his briefs and helped him out of them.

  I fell back on my bed and pulled him on top of me. He immediately resumed trailing kisses over my body. As he did, I fumbled around in my bedside drawer, desperately seeking a certain little item I knew to be there. In a moment of triumph, my fingers found it.

  Emerson threw my legs over his broad shoulders, grabbing each of my thighs as he spread my legs wide. His mouth was on me with no hesitation, tongue flicking over every inch of my most private flesh. I arched my back, tossing my head back and forth, moaning with pleasure. My breathing surged violently. My hips bucked up to meet his talented mouth in rhythm with the pulse rushing through me. It had been an eternity since I'd orgasmed so strongly; my whole body was shaking.

  Finally, I couldn't wait any more.

  “Here,” I said, breathing heavily as I pulled his head up from between my legs and thrust the condom into his hands. “I need to feel you inside me. Now.”

  He gasped, pausing in his enthusiastic bout of running his mouth up my stomach.

  He ripped open the wrapper with his teeth and slipped the condom out, rolling it over his cock with expert speed and fluidity. He positioned himself over me and started to slide his hard shaft into me. I was wet and ready, but even so, it had been a long time and I felt a sliver of pain spark through me.

  “Oh, oh God, wait, slowly, slowly…”

  “Damn, you're tight,” he gasped.

  Emerson gradually slid inside, causing my eyes to roll back into my head. I was losing my mind with freshly awakened passion, each soft thrust sending bouts of pleasure rippling through me.

  He kissed me with slow, languid pleasure while, in contrast, he had a firm grip on my hips as he pushed into me in complete control, sinking deep into me over and over, relentlessly.

  “Please, Emerson,” I cried into his ear. “More. Please.”

  He pressed his body against mine and surged in and out of my wetness, faster and harder, just as I had requested. I could feel the first stirrings of an orgasm as he continued.

  “Oh God, oh God, yes, yes, yes,” I moaned as the pleasure grew more and more intense.

  I tried to keep quiet, but it was too much. It felt too good.

  He was thrusting madly now – almost with a speed that seemed beyond humanly possible – and that's when my orgasm started to tear through my body, sending convulsions of raw bliss and ecstasy through my every extremity.

  A loud moan escaped, and he covered my mouth with his to quell the sounds of my intense, wall-shaking orgasm. He gasped and drove himself into me one last time, shuddering and convulsing with the force of his own orgasm as his rock-hard member throbbed its explosive power within me.

  With that, he collapsed, shivering and trembling with pleasure. He slipped his fingers through mine, and we gripped each other's hands as we lay together in a tangle of sweaty, shivering limbs and damp sheets, both breathing as hard as if we'd just sprinted a marathon.

  Emerson rolled over on his back and pulled me next to him without saying a word. He caressed my cheek, ever so gently, and looked deeply into my eyes. Then he
ran a finger through my hair and kissed me slowly and gently.

  “You're so beautiful,” he whispered to me. “So, so beautiful.”

  He continued to caress and kiss me softly as the last waves of my orgasm died out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Emerson

  The sun hadn’t even made an appearance when my eyes opened. My head was feeling a bit fuzzy from all the wine I’d consumed the night before. For a moment, I was certain I was dreaming. I had to blink a few times to focus in the darkness of the room, but sure enough, it wasn’t a dream. I was naked, lying next to Brooke.

  I stared at her while she slept for a while. God, she was beautiful. Beautiful in a way that plastic girls like Melissa could never be. I ran a finger gently across her cheek, brushing her skin lightly with my fingertips. It was impossible to resist touching her, even though I didn't want to wake her. She stirred in her sleep and the slightest hint of a smile appeared on her lips.

  I kissed them lightly, and she half-opened her eyes.

  “Emerson,” she sighed and smiled at me as she shifted a little, moving closer to snuggle up next to me. I instinctively wrapped my arms around her.

  “Good morning,” I whispered as I placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “I've gotta go see my dad now. Go back to sleep.”

  “What t-time is it?” she mumbled.

  I glanced at the clock on her nightstand. “It's around five in the morning. Shh, go back to sleep,” I coaxed in a quiet tone, not wanting to disrupt her too much.

  “Mmm, okay,” she whispered and dozed back off.

  I gently disengaged myself from her embrace and reluctantly got out of bed. It wasn’t even remotely what I wanted to do. I wanted to stay. I wanted to have a repeat of last night, only without the influence of too much wine. But I also wanted to see my dad, so, I got dressed as quietly as possible and tiptoed out.

  Once back in my apartment, I checked the day’s weather and then packed a backpack with some clothes and a few essentials before I set out on the six-hour ride up to my dad's place. I put my helmet on, thumbed the starter, and prepared to go. On the horizon, the first golden silvers of sunlight were appearing. It was a nice day for a ride and the weather was supposed to stay clear. I'd be off the interstate before most of the morning commuter traffic hit, and from there, it would be backwoods country roads without too many other vehicles.

  A few hours later, I pulled into a gas station and parked my bike outside of a meager diner attached to the gas station. I dismounted and stretched my limbs. After riding for almost three hours straight, my wrists and back were a little stiff. An old man dressed in grimy dungarees and a tattered baseball cap stared at me as he chewed on a stalk of long grass. I was out in the sticks, alright. Mountains stretched to the verge of the horizon and old forests stood sentry at the edges of the road.

  It was picturesque, to say the least. I reached into my pocket for my phone, intending to take some pictures of the scenery and send them to Brooke who would surely be awake and on her way to class. That's when my heart stopped.

  My phone was gone.

  In a panic, I patted all of my pockets thinking maybe I'd put it in a different one.

  I hadn't. I always kept it in the left front pocket of my jeans.

  And then I looked at the jeans I was wearing – the same pair from the previous night – and I cursed myself for my stupidity. These were the jeans that my phone always fell out of when I was on my bike. The design of the pockets meant the phone sat at an angle when I was on the motorcycle which, unfortunately for me, was the perfect slant for it to work its way out of the pocket while I was riding.

  It had happened twice before but, luckily, I had noticed the phone falling out and been able to retrieve it. For that reason, I’d always tried to avoid wearing this particular pair of jeans when riding. However, in my haste and early morning grogginess, I had kept them on. And now, my phone had fallen out, possibly a hundred miles back or something. It was gone for sure, probably smashed to bits under the wheels of cars and trucks.

  I shook my head and cursed. Not that there was anything I could do about it. I'd just have to wait until I got back to talk to Brooke. I headed into the diner for some coffee and a snack, losing my phone just one more thing to add to my feelings of uncertainty about the twenty-four hours ahead of me. Despite my worries about Dad, Brooke was occupying my thoughts, as well. In fact, I found myself replaying the previous night over and over in my head as I drove the final three hours. Thankfully, when I arrived, hanging out with him kept my mind off of her for a bit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Brooke

  I rolled over and brought my hand down on my alarm. My head was still a little foggy. I definitely wasn't used to drinking that much wine. I rubbed my eyes and tried to make sense of the partial memory of Emerson kissing me and saying he had to leave while it was still dark at five o'clock in the morning. And then all the memories of what had happened the night before came flooding back.

  Emerson and me.

  His hands, all over me. The warmth of his mouth on mine. Our bodies pressed together, writhing, sweating, moaning with the intensity of it all.

  A smile grew on my lips and my cheeks warmed at the thought of it. I couldn't wait for it to happen again.

  I lingered in bed, replaying the events that had led up to the best sex I’d ever had. While I did, it hit me.

  I was ready. I was finally ready to move on. Everything that had happened with Andrew had finally been consigned to the past.

  I smiled. Just knowing I had moved on made me happier than anything I could think of with the exception of last night. It was going to be a long two days.

  I was eager to see Emerson. In fact, I was positively craving his presence. I had no idea what had come over me. And as selfish as it was to want him with me knowing how serious the situation with his father was, I still wished he hadn’t left.

  That didn’t mean we couldn’t at least talk, though. I checked the time and picked up my phone. I'd need to get ready for class. I dialed his number anyway. But it went straight to voicemail. I didn't bother leaving him a message. Instead, I shot him a text message and then put my phone in my bag as I headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day. I figured he was probably on the road and he'd see the message and reply when he stopped.

  Still, when I came out of the bathroom, I checked my phone to check if he'd replied. I shook my head at my behavior and looked myself in the mirror.

  “Stop it, Brooke. Just because the sex was amazing doesn’t mean you should stalk the guy. You know better.” I nodded at myself as if I understood and walked away. After last night, I needed food.

  ***

  It was almost six o'clock in the evening when I finally got home. I was tired, cranky, more than a little hungry, and there still had been no word from Emerson. At first, I'd chalked it up to him being on the road. It’s hard enough to drive a car and text, it was impossible to do that on a motorcycle and I didn’t expect or want him to. But he surely had to have reached his destination by that time and would have seen the message waiting for him on his phone. I had tried calling a couple more times, but it always went straight to voicemail.

  In my head, I started going through all the possible reasons he wasn’t answering or texting back. Perhaps he was feeling too emotional to talk to anyone, especially considering how worried he had been about the surgery scheduled for the following day. Maybe he’d been in an accident. Maybe his battery had died and he just hadn’t gotten around to charging it.

  Then, there was the possibility he could have been ignoring me deliberately.

  That thought sent flushes of uncomfortable heat prickling along my skin. What if my initial suspicions about him had been right all along? What if he'd been acting like a caring, decent guy just so he could get me into bed?

  Of course, the way he had made love to me had been entirely unlike the way a self-centered, egotistical player would have done it. Or, at least, I didn’t think
that would be the case. Not that I had a lot of experience with the sort. It was, however, getting harder and harder to keep the doubts from slipping in. Then, naturally, the memories of what Andrew had done to me starting clawing their way back into my mind.

  I plopped down on the couch, heat bubbling like acid through me. What was going on? Could my worst fears about this situation really be the reality of it?

  I picked up the phone and tried to dial one more time.

  Straight to voicemail, yet again.

  I was just about to lose it when Leslie walked in the front door. She knew I'd been getting closer to Emerson and that he'd made me dinner the previous night. What she didn't know was that he had stayed the night. I debated briefly whether I should tell her about it or not. I decided not to. Not yet. Not until I had a better idea of what was going on.

  “Hey, Bee,” she said as she walked into the living room. “How was your day?”

  “Uh, it was a day,” I replied.

  She stared at me with her head tilted for a few moments.

  “Something’s not right with you. What's the matter?” she asked.

  “Um, I've just got a headache,” I lied. “I've been going all day and don't think I had enough water to drink.”

  “Oh, well I think there's Gatorade in the fridge. You should have some. Electrolytes will help you rehydrate.”

  “Yeah, good idea,” I replied. “What about you? How was your day?” I added quickly, trying to shift her attention away from me.

  “Oh, probably like yours,” she said with a sigh. “A million things to get done and not nearly enough time to do 'em all. And, this week is gonna be hell, too. I've got so many tests, I think my head's gonna explode. Seriously, I'm about to go crazy. I'm gonna have to spend every damn night this week studying late. And if that jerk next door makes a single peep, I swear I'm gonna rip his steroid-filled head off.”

  I chuckled nervously. “Let's hope he doesn't,” I said.

  “Maybe you should tell Emerson that. You know, to pass the message on to his not-so-considerate buddy. Ya know, so I don't have to go over there and tear things up when that fool makes a racket.”