One More Night_A Bad Boy Romance

by Ruby Duke

  I cock an eyebrow in invitation.

  “You, riding my cock, just like this. My mouth on your tits, one hand to your lips to keep you quiet while you came. Perfection.”

  “Show it to me.”

  He grins while he lines himself with my entrance, my hands shaking against his back with anticipation of the thrust. Yet, he chooses to tease me instead, circling my center with the tip of his thick erection until I literally beg him to end the suffering.

  “Fuck me, Jordan. I need this. I need you right now.”

  He shunts his hips at the same time as letting me drop down the wall, nothing but his body holding me from falling to the floor. I cry out with his fullness, with the burn of such a brutal entry, most of all with the relief of it all.

  “You need me every day, baby. Admit it.”

  I can’t. All I can think of is this moment, right here. I don’t want to muddy this connection with the troubles of the world. Not yet.

  “Three months,” I utter as he sucks on my throat, one hand to my hip, the other palming my breast.

  “Three months.” He tilts his head and claims me with a kiss, the intrusion of his tongue welcome. I need him inside of me in every way.

  Why not when he’s already found a home in my heart?

  The timber of the shed wall scratches at my skin, the pain a welcome contrast to the flutter that builds in my core. Our union is raw, filled with personal gain rather than care for the other, and yet I don’t think we could have it any other way.

  We’re two people sure of what we want from this, and it’s no traditional romance.

  It’s ours, and that alone is something infinitely more special than a thousand candlelit dinners or roses on our anniversary.

  One look in his dark eyes as he brings me to the edge of orgasm and I know without a doubt I can get the single most important thing from him: respect. He’s not the kind to mold or bend me to his purpose, rather the kind to let me do my own thing as long as it was by his side. What could be more perfect? Companionship, love in whatever shape it came, and also independence.

  “Three months,” I pant as the familiar buzz builds deep in my core.

  “Three months,” he repeats, low and throaty as he jerks hard into me. “And you’ll wonder why you waited so long to find me again.”

  TWELVE

  Jordan

  “I need to make a few calls.”

  Corinne already looks at home, wandering through the house with only a towel to her luscious body. I didn’t think too much on the after when the boathouse sprung to mind, rather on the task at hand. The sprint back to the main house with my cum trailing down Corinne’s legs … kind of made me want to fuck her again.

  Never thought I’d say it, but seeing my mark on a woman like that? Better than any pearl necklace I gave a willing partner in college.

  Next step: keep it in her.

  The depth of my obsession with this woman terrifies the calculated and controlled side of me. But I can’t deny that I see it all when I look at her. Those hips were made to bear children, and I can’t think of anything more satisfying that children to complete our lives together.

  Am I getting a little ahead of myself? Perhaps. But a man can’t be faulted for planning for the future.

  I never said I wanted rug-rats now. Hell no. That peach that peeks out from under the towel as she retrieves her phone wants a hell of a lot more alone time with my dick before I introduce that kind of distraction into our lives.

  “Who are you calling?” I lean back into the sofa, arms spread over the back, dressed in only my slacks.

  Didn’t see the point in putting a shirt back on when I’m in my own home. Especially when I caught Corinne stealing looks at me when she thought I was distracted.

  “My friend, Sarah. You met her at the bar last weekend. We work together.” She pauses, taking a deep breath before correcting, “Worked together.”

  “Stay here while you talk to her.”

  Corinne frowns, her thumb poised over the screen. “Why?”

  “Because I asked you to.” Because as much as I want to immerse myself in you, I still don’t trust you.

  She doesn’t respond. Simply narrows her eyes a little further before connecting the call. “Hey, babe.” Corinne’s gaze holds mine as she drops her ass to the sofa opposite mine. “I’ve got news … Good and bad … Yeah, it’s true.” I can hear her friend babbling on the other end of the line from where I sit. “I don’t know. I just …” She sighs, rubbing her free hand along her thigh. “I wanted to.” Her gaze follows her hand, yet I catch the flush of pink to her cheeks before she ducks her chin to her chest. “Who do you think it was?” She mumbles the question, seemingly embarrassed to be discussing this in front of me.

  Clearly, her friend holds some control over Corinne’s thoughts and feelings. She values this Sarah’s opinion. I’m not sure if I appreciate the potential competition.

  “I’m fine, really,” she urges, fingers dancing over her flesh.

  I slide from the sofa to my knees and cross the floor to her.

  Brilliant blue eyes lift to find mine while she hums assent to whatever her friend says.

  I slide my palms up the outside of her thighs, under the towel, and find the swell of her ass. Corinne captures her bottom lip between her teeth when I grab a handful and squeeze, reminding her who’s she is now.

  Three months. It may have been a verbal contract, but it was one nonetheless.

  “Look, I’ll call you tomorrow once I’m settled—” She stops abruptly, realizing her error. “Don’t judge me, but I’m going to have a vacation with Jordan.”

  I rise up and lean over her legs to place a kiss to the swell of her breasts, pressed against the towel. Hearing her say my name, the way it fell so effortlessly from her lips as though we’ve been together for months already … I like that.

  “Three months?” She’s nervous, worried about Sarah’s opinion.

  Going by the tirade of words I can hear coming down the line, her pal doesn’t think our tryst is a good idea.

  Fuck that.

  I reach up and take the phone from Corinne, cutting her friend off mid-sentence before I toss the device aside. “You don’t need that bullshit.”

  “She’s worried about me, Jordan.” Corinne forces her arms between us to cross them defiantly over her chest.

  Only succeeds in pulling my focus back to her fuckable tits.

  “She’s basing her judgment of your situation off of what she would do in your place.”

  “Isn’t that how you use gut instinct when it comes to others?”

  “It’s how you use prejudice against things you don’t understand.” I steal a kiss to shut her the hell up. I’m not here to debate whether Debbie-Do-Gooder is right or not. I’m here to remind Corinne why three months won’t be long enough. “Dinner tonight.”

  “What about it?” Her tone softens, her arms relaxing.

  “We’re eating out.” I brace my hands either side of her hips and place a kiss to her forehead. “Nothing would turn me on more than the look on other men’s faces when they realize they can’t have you.”

  Corinne smirks, the devil in her eyes as she glances up at me from beneath her lashes. “Are you the jealous type, Jordan? Oh my.”

  “Terribly so.”

  “Hmm.” She likes the idea as much as I do. “Is this one of your games?”

  “Perhaps.”

  I wonder if in time she’d be open to a public fuck to claim her? Goddamn the thought alone makes my dick hard …

  “Tell me,” I growl. “What are your hard limits?”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

  I release her breasts from the restriction of the towel, and then palm them both, testing the weight. God, everything about her is perfect. “How private are you?”

  I’d hazard a guess as not too much so, considering she got fired for fucking me in the break room.

  “You want to share me?” She fr
owns.

  Now there’s an idea. Might work, if it was another woman in the mix. I’d kill the man who even wet his dick looking at her.

  “I want to show you off.”

  “At dinner?” She seems dubious. I don’t blame her.

  “Get dressed.” I pull away and stand, adjusting the bulge in my slacks. “We’re going to your place to pick up what you need, and while we’re there, I’ll decide if you have anything suitable to wear to dinner.”

  “You’ll decide?” she challenges, unmoving.

  The smirk on her face pulls a smile from me. “I have no doubt that whatever you choose will look nice, Corinne, but I want you to look more than nice. I want you downright fuckable. I want every man in the place wishing he knew the feel of your curves beneath his hands, and every woman wishing she had them.”

  “And you’re sure I’m okay with this vulgar show of ego?”

  Not entirely, but, “If you weren’t comfortable with the body you’re blessed with, then you wouldn’t be here right now. Would you?”

  No woman in the middle of a confidence crisis would have strutted her ass over to the man who put her sex-life on the table for public discussion. No woman in her right mind. Only one who’s quietly confident would have taken such a hit to the ego and turned it into a compliment.

  Because that’s what this whole goddamn scenario is: a compliment.

  Corinne is a strong, attractive woman.

  A woman who knows what she requires, and how to get it.

  One who unashamedly took what she needed, when she needed it.

  And that she chose to take it from an equally strong, intimidating man such as me? Well, that is fucking sexy as hell.

  “Can I at least borrow a shirt?” she says with a quirk of her eyebrow. “You kind of destroyed my blouse.”

  “Of course.” I offer her my hand. “Come. I think we could have a little more fun while you change, don’t you?”

  “I have no doubt.” She takes the offered assistance and pulls herself to stand. “But you do want to make dinner on time, right?”

  She has a point … “Rain check, then.” I have ideas on how her legs can brace the sides of my bathtub …

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  THIRTEEN

  Corinne

  The luxury of riding in Jordan’s Range Rover is one hell of an ego trip. I’ve never been an overly shallow person, but I can totally see how surrounding yourself in the finest of everything can steer a person toward a successful mindset.

  He’s clearly comfortable with his lifestyle. One elbow slung out the open window, his hand casually wrapped around the steering wheel, and a relaxed stance with his legs wide as he drives us toward my apartment.

  I suggested we take my car back so I could leave it there, but he insisted it would be safer at his place where it could be garaged properly. Regular car alarms in the early hours of the morning mean I can’t argue with that.

  “How long have you been doing whatever it is you do?” I ask, twirling the end of a lock of my hair.

  He glances across at me, before smirking as he returns his focus to the traffic we’re buried in. “You can’t get me to reveal information that easily.”

  “Are you sure?” I make a point of looking at the car beside us out his window. “I did have a backup plan if you really needed convincing.”

  Chase’s warning still sits in the back of my mind, flashing weakly like a beacon in the storm.

  “You talk a big game, Corinne.”

  “I thought you liked games?” I bite my lip, arching my back so my tits strain against his T-shirt.

  He checks out the swell of my form in his periphery, and then sighs. “I like my games.”

  “Have you always been an asshole?” I bet he was that kid in school who had to make up the rules or he wouldn’t play at all.

  “My mother would say so.”

  Ooo. Knowingly or not, he slipped. It’s the first personal thing I’ve heard him say.

  “You know,” I remark casually, “I find it odd that Chase never mentioned you. Especially if you’ve kept in touch all these years.”

  He wets his bottom lip before running it between his teeth. “You should ask him why that is.”

  Touchy. “How long did you guys know each other before Chase’s birthday?”

  “Most of school.”

  “And again, I never saw you until then.”

  “A lot of people elected not to see me.”

  Interesting choice of words … “And yet you saw me,” I muse.

  I wrack my brain, trying to remember more about that day. Like him, I’m stuck on what memories I did make. The quiet boy with the dark hair, and rough clothes. Rough clothes …

  “Your family isn’t wealthy, are they?”

  He flexes his fingers on the wheel as we start to move again. “They’re rich in their own way.”

  “Not close then?”

  “Is this what dinner’s going to be like?” he snaps, eyes hard on the car in front of us. “Because if it is, I can make sure I book somewhere with music so I can’t hear you.”

  “Ever the gentleman,” I mutter, folding my arms.

  So I hit a sore spot? Get over it.

  “How many years did you let your uncle touch you before you found enough courage to tell your parents?”

  Ice washes through my veins as I slowly turn to look at him. Jordan sits stoic, watching the cars around us as he navigates to the next lane over. “Pardon?”

  “You’re not the only observant one.”

  “You have no right to ask me that.”

  “Did he hurt you? Or was voyeurism his thing?”

  My jaw aches with the withheld tension. “Stop.”

  “He watched your ass in that goddamn dress as much as I did. Wasn’t hard to figure out his intentions when he’d continually adjust his seat.”

  “I said stop.”

  “Not nice when somebody delves into your past without permission is it?”

  I swallow back the strange mix of shame and anger. “Let me out. Your three months is off the table.”

  “No.” He shifts both hands to the wheel.

  “Excuse me?” I straighten in the seat, making my position prim and proper. Like hell I want this jerk to get any ideas.

  “The three months, Corinne.” He slows to a stop at a red light and then rolls his hips to face me. “It’s about letting that shit go. For both of us.”

  I narrow my gaze on him, not entirely trusting of his sudden shift in approach. Only narcissists swing from nasty to caring like this. He strikes me as one: sure and confident in himself, certain that he’s the best at whatever the fuck it is he does.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll tell you what you want to know,” he assures with with a gentle sweep of his fingers beneath my jaw, “but not tonight. Can we just enjoy our first night without all that baggage?”

  “Technically it’s not our first night,” I sass, folding my arms again.

  He resumes driving the final block to my place with a grin curling his lips.

  “What?” I give in and ask.

  “Doesn’t take much to wake the tiger in you, does it?”

  “I let myself be walked over long enough, which it seems you know already. So sue me if I’m a little defensive.”

  “I don’t mind it at all.” His arms are a thing of beauty as he turns the wheel and navigates us into the narrow parking space outside my apartment building. “Come on. The sooner we eat, the sooner I can get back to distracting you from this couples bullshit.”

  My jaw hits the floor as he opens his door and steps out, stretching his arm over his head to reveal his toned midsection.

  I curse myself for insisting I choose what he wears tonight since he gets to pick my outfit. The dark distressed denim hangs low on his hips, the tailoring of the jeans a goddamn masterpiece when it comes to how they hug his ass. Team that with his black T-shirt, and open short-sleeve button down and goddamn … he’s GQ material.
<
br />   Think with reasoning, Corinne. He’s just told me in not so many words that he wants me for the sex.

  But isn’t that why I want him?

  Three months.

  I step out of the Range Rover and pull a deep breath.

  Twelve weeks of orgasmic bliss, and I can call it a sabbatical and get serous about finding a new job.

  You only live once, right?

  FOURTEEN

  Jordan

  The tension radiates off her in waves while she slots the key in the lock and twists. I shouldn’t have snapped at her; curiosity is human nature. But she hit my red button. My no-go.

  “It’s not much compared to your place—”

  “But it’s yours,” I say, following her in.

  She drops her keys to the end table, and then steers straight for the bedroom. I follow that plump ass as it swings up the narrow hallway, flexing my fists to save from reaching out and slapping it.

  Maybe earlier, I would have. But after making her mad? I may be a red-blooded man, but I’m not stupid.

  “Help yourself.” Corinne swings the doors of her wardrobe open; revealing a small collection of dresses and pantsuits. “I’ll be down the hall packing some things in the bathroom.”

  “You trust me to do this alone?” I taunt.

  “Wouldn’t want to make it a couples thing now, would I?” She hits me with a challenging stare, arm extending to gesture toward her bed. “There are more shoes in a storage container under there if you would like to accessorize.”

  I’m flail for what to say as she strides from the room, leaving me in her sanctuary. My gaze drifts around the space, at the little touches that make it hers. Soft colors accent the bedding and furnishings. It seems she likes a little calm in her home. So different from how she appears at face value.

  I move toward a line of photo frames propped on top of her drawers, taking in familiar faces: her father, mother, Chase, and a few people who must be family given the resemblance. Unsurprisingly, her uncle is absent from the line up. Fucker. What I knew of their relationship was broad assumption. I saw the way he eye-balled her at the party all those years ago—just like I told her—but I’d hoped it wasn’t anything that serious. I embellished in the hopes she’d get defensive and shut me down; I wanted to hurt her after she hurt me in mentioning my parents.