by Marie James
“What about when we’re not fucking on video.” Leaning in close for the first time, my eyes flutter closed in anticipation of his touch. “Do I call you Cici then?”
“We…” I have to clear the scratch of desire from my throat before I can continue. “We won’t be fucking off screen.”
“We still have six times to fuck on video.”
I turn my head and glare at him, beer bottle suspended near my lips.
“Five,” I correct.
“We didn’t fuck Thursday. It was mutual oral pleasure,” he says as if I need the reminder.
“We agreed to fuck six times,” I argue.
“We agreed to fuck six times,” he counters, tilting his own beer up to his lips.
“You fucked my mouth. It counts.”
Those soft lips curl up even around the mouth of his beer before he shrugs and reaches for a chip.
“Who’s keeping count?”
“I am.” Turning my head back to the TV, I pick a show I know I’m not going to be able to watch with him so close to me.
“Is that your mom?” He points across the room at the picture that has become a part of the décor, I no longer notice it most days.
“Yes,” I answer hoping he doesn’t pry.
“She’s back home?”
God dammit.
“She’s gone.”
Leave it the hell alone.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he whispers.
His words are customary, but it’s the hint of sadness that makes me want to talk more. I hate that he forces my guard down when all I want to do is shield my past, my family, and their betrayal.
“Breast cancer,” I say in response to the unasked question. “I was a junior in high school.”
“That had to have been horrible.”
Most people can’t even imagine the pain of losing a parent. If it’s not something they’ve experienced, there’s no way to comprehend the tragedy of it. Couple that with the hole in my heart my parents created, the one I couldn’t fill with good memories even after her death, and it’s understandable why I’m such a bitter person.
I huff an incredulous laugh. “My mom hated me, and my dad replaced her before her heart even stopped beating. Tell me about your family.”
He smiles, soft and sad. I hate the empathy in his eyes.
“Are we trading war stories now?”
I shrug. “Tit for tat, I guess.”
“My dad is a professional liar, chronic cheater, and just an all-around asshole. I always remembered my mom with a drink in her hand. It was her way to deal with my dad’s affairs I guess. One day last year, she decided to mix her booze with pain medicine.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “And I thought my life sucked.”
He chuckles.
“Suicide?”
He shakes his head, but it doesn’t stop wetness from lining his lower lashes. “The coroner deemed it an accidental overdose.”
Without a second thought, I reach for his hand. He allows it, twining his fingers with mine.
“Were you guys close?”
“As close as the alcohol would let us get, I guess.”
Silence weighs heavy around us, and we let it, both of us just taking a moment to dwell on our fucked up memories.
“My dad is an attorney, too,” I finally confess.
“But no law school for you?” I shake my head. “My father was beyond livid when I got the courage to tell him I wouldn’t be following in his footsteps.”
“I can imagine.” I place our combined hands on my thigh.
“He tried to disown me, cut me off, and force my hand, but my trust is from my mother’s family.”
“Trust fund baby, huh?” I smile, trying to break the sadness and tension surrounding us.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “And you’re not, Ms. I got a Range Rover as a gift.”
“You got me there.” I give him another genuine smile. “But I can’t access my trust fund unless I go back, and that’s never going to happen.”
Moaning from the TV draws both of our attention.
“Jesus, that’s hot as hell,” he whispers.
“Jamie and Claire are an explosive couple.”
We focus on Outlander, watching Claire ride Jamie’s dick with a knife to his throat, forcing him to vow to cherish her.
Jake’s fingers wiggle free of mine, and I don’t even bother stopping him. I know what that trailing finger up my thigh is going to lead to, and right now after such a heavy discussion about our parents and respective mothers’ deaths I want this as much as he does.
“You’re overdressed.” His warm breath is on my neck. “Minus the knife, I’d love for you to be riding my cock like that.”
“Is that so?” I pant, raising my arms when he moves to take my t-shirt off.
“Yes,” he answers before his talented mouth covers my nipple.
While he plays my body like a fiddle, I push off my sweats and reach for his belt buckle. His mouth finds mine in a heated kiss as he stands enough for me to push his jeans and boxers off of his hips.
Standing, he kicks off his boots and continues to remove clothing until he’s as naked as I am.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” I hear the words, but I can’t concentrate on anything but the slow stroke of his hand as he fists his glorious cock.
Squealing when he lifts me off the sofa, I cling to him until he’s sitting back down and my pussy is hovering over the engorged head of his cock.
“Slow,” he orders when the first inch of him penetrates me. “Fuck, that’s it.”
“No condom?” I slide another inch down his length.
With hands gripping my hips, he presses down until he’s fully sheathed. “Hell no.”
“So good,” I praise as my thighs clench, and I pull up halfway.
One arm is around my waist, the other curved over my back, fingers curled into my shoulder.
“Kiss me,” he pants against my lips.
I do.
I kiss him until we’re both breathless. I ride him until the sensation of him driving into me is too much, and he has to take over. I cum on him three times before he finally allows himself the same.
“Why are you smirking at me?” I feel vulnerable with him looking directly into my eyes like he can see into my soul is unnerving.
He holds fast when I try to move away. “Don’t,” He pleads. “Don’t pull away from me.”
“We need to get cleaned up. Can’t just sit on the couch naked all night.”
“We can,” he assures me. “We can do exactly that.”
“Jake,” I warn, the irritation in my voice enough for him to release me.
I stand, tugging on my yoga pants, knowing another shower is needed before I call it a night.
“Let’s go again,” he says staring at the wetness forming at the V of my thighs.
I chuckle. “You can’t keep wasting your six.”
His eyes snap to mine. “This didn’t fucking count.”
“It did. Just like Thursday counted.”
“We didn’t film this.”
“Doesn’t matter.” I take another step away from him before handing over his t-shirt. “You said six fucks. We fucked tonight. You fucked my mouth on Thursday. It counts.”
“Do you seriously think,” he hisses as he stands and tugs on his jeans, “that fucking me four or five or even six times is going to be enough for you?”
“It has to be.”
I wait until his boots are tugged on before I open the front door of my condo.
He’s agitated; that’s evident by the tension in his shoulders, but I don’t shy away from him when he steps closer to me at the door. He presses his warm lips against my temple.
“We’ll just have to see about that.”
Chapter 16
Jake
Joey: Your frat. Saturday. Email instructions will be sent tonight.
I glare at the text, just like I’ve done for the last hour since my phone ding
ed with its notification.
I allowed myself to think that Randi and I had made some headway, but the way she threw me out of her condo a few days ago made things abundantly clear. She’s counting down the days until she can be rid of me.
Pulling on my sneakers, I head for the front door.
“What’s got your panties in a twist, porn boy?”
Tilting my head, I close my eyes, but the deep breath in isn’t enough to shake the agitation I feel every time I see this asshole.
“Fuck off, Carlos,” I spit as I reach for the doorknob.
“If the dean finds out you’re making porn in the house, he’ll kick you out of school.” Smugness is all over his face when I turn to look at him.
“If the dean got wind of the videos made here, he’d shut the entire house down,” I argue. “You want your precious frat to be dismantled?”
“You think showing up here as a senior just because you have connections means that you can take over and run the fucking house?”
My fists clench, knuckles popping loudly in the otherwise silent room.
“I’m not taking over shit. It’s not my fault your little frat boys like hanging out with me more than they do you.”
“I’m the God damned President of Lambda Phi Gamma.” The screech of his voice is loud enough to make my ears bleed.
“Enjoy it while you can, asshole. This is probably the only glory you’ll ever have in life.”
I walk out, slamming the door behind me for good measure.
I don’t bother with my truck, mainly because I left my keys inside and if I go back in there without cooling down I may end up in prison for murder. Carlos never liked me, hated the fact that I showed up one day. He was right about one thing. My connections, or more my family connections, got me into the house even though I’m not technically a Gamma.
Blowing out a long breath, I begin to jog in the direction of the park once my shoes hit the sidewalk in front of the house. I know there aren’t enough miles on the planet to run away from the shit that’s bothering me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try to forget about it.
Keeping my stride, I tug my headphones out of my pocket and plug them into my ears. There’s nothing like heavy metal that makes me want to go back and gut that fucker. I switch to a different playlist, but the hip-hop isn’t much better. It reminds me of Randi and the way my cock feels sliding inside of her.
“Focus on the physical,” I urge myself as my feet begin to match the beat of Laffy Taffy by D4L. The physical aspects of what we’re doing are perfect. I wouldn’t change a damn thing about it. It’s the heart bullshit I can’t seem to avoid that is driving me nuts.
As if thinking of her brings her before me, I turn my head and there she is, that damn bouncy dog of hers running circles around her feet. My pace stutters. I almost turn and jog in her direction, but at the last minute I look in the other direction and keep running. The last damn thing I need is to spend more time alone with her.
The crazy thing I can’t get out of my head as I pound the sidewalk is that Saturday is days away. The thought of waiting until then to see her, only to fuck her and walk away seems like an eternity. I’m a guy, so admitting that I’ve thought more about the conversation we had the other night, focusing more on the hand holding than the actual sex makes me feel like a pussy even though it doesn’t make it any less true.
Circling the park, I bargain with myself. If she’s still there, after I’ve run for over an hour, I’ll speak with her. If she’s gone, I’ll do my best not to run to her condo.
As fate would have it, Randi is only about fifteen yards from where she was the last time I saw her. I slow my run to a walk, knowing I need to catch my breath before she takes it away again. She doesn’t see me as I approach. The dog, that adorable but hyperactive husky I saw Jas with the other night notices me first.
“Sit, Havoc. Be a good boy,” she pleads.
Havoc ignores the treat in her hand and tries to bound in my direction as I get closer.
“There are too many distractions out here for him. You’re just wasting your time.”
I hate the way her shoulders stiffen at my voice. It’s nearly enough to make me turn around and leave.
In what seems like slow motion, she turns around to face me. The wind blowing stray strands of her hair around her face and the pink in her cheeks from wrestling with the dog are both things that make her even more beautiful than the last time I saw her.
Havoc catches me off guard, and with paws on my chest and a licking tongue, he knocks me on my ass.
When I hear Randi’s laugh, I know I’d allow myself to get knocked down a million times over if it meant I’d get to hear that amazing sound again.
“I was thinking,” she says between laughing breaths, “that you were some sort of puppy whisperer coming over to give sage advice, but you can’t even stand upright around him.”
“Sweet boy,” I tell Havoc while scratching behind his ears.
“Get off of him,” Randi says as she tries to pull the overgrown puppy off of my chest. “Sorry. He has no manners.”
“It’s okay.” I sweep my hands down my chest but make no move to stand as she lowers herself beside me on the grass.
“Are you stalking me now?” she teases.
“Had to get out of the house. Running seemed like the best way to ease the boredom.” I’ll never admit to her that erratic thoughts are what actually sent me on the four-mile run.
“Something we have in common.” She gives me that beautiful smile that haunts my dreams. “I run a lot, too.”
“You’re beautiful without makeup.” I bite the inside of my lip, both for saying some shit like that and for insinuating that she doesn’t look beautiful when she’s done up. “I mean you look gorgeous all the time.”
She laughs again. “I knew what you meant. Makeup is kind of my life, but it’s wasted when I work out. Most days I don’t even bother with it at all.”
“Kind of your life?”
Her cheeks pink as if she’s embarrassed. “I want to be a professional makeup artist. I had a fairly successful YouTube channel, with sponsors and everything, but that blew up when my first video went live.”
“Shit,” I mutter.
“Yeah. Apparently, I had a ton of teens that followed me. One of them reported me after having discovered my SCP video.”
I shake my head. “That makes no damn sense.”
“The YouTube terms and conditions said I was in breach of contract.” She shrugs nonchalantly like one of her dreams wasn’t destroyed by the fine print no one reads.
“What about a blog or some shit?” I offer. “Hunter has a pretty successful one for young adults struggling with their sexuality.”
“I’ve considered it, but I guess I’m just terrified that I’ll put all my focus on it and it’ll just get shut down too.”
“Hmm.” I twist a blade of grass between my fingers.
“I do some drag shows. I’ve done several parties, makeup for bridal portraits, weddings, that sort of thing, but putting myself out there while I’m working for SCP isn’t going to happen again.” Her hands mimic mine, pulling blades of grass and running them over the back of her hand. “I may try again after I’m done making videos.”
“Any idea when you’ll be done with SCP?”
She chuckles, rolling her head on her shoulders to look over at me. “Don’t worry. I won’t quit before our contract is over.”
Shaking my head, I meet her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Sure it is.” She swallows, demeanor changing in a split second. It’s as if the walls she has built to protect herself from the outside world are actual physical barriers between us. “You’re worried you won’t get your full number of fucks. You’ll get yours, then Vic will set me up with a different guy to fuck each week until I decide I’m done.”
The long deep breath I suck into my lungs and then slowly let slip back out doesn’t relieve the anger building at the thought
of her fucking other guys. I have no ownership. Hell, I don’t even think this chick likes me most days unless she’s coming on my cock.
“And I bet you just can’t wait to get those other dicks in you. Tell me, Randi. Do I not do it for you? Is one dick not enough?”
“Are you joking, coming at me like that?” Her brows knit, and if she could breathe fire, I’m certain my hair would be singed to the scalp. “Was one chick enough for you before you came up with this fucked up idea that we’re only fucking each other. Were you Mr. Monogamous with anyone else? My guess is no since you’re hell-bent on controlling my sex life.”
“I misspoke,” I backpedal.
“I think you said exactly what you were thinking. I don’t expect you to be any different. Men and women alike have the same fucked up point of view. Men can go around and stick their dicks in anything, and they’re ‘just being boys.’ But, when a woman owns her sexuality and wants to sleep around, she’s a whore. Well, fuck you, Jake. It’s my life, my goddamn body, and my fucking choice who gets to fuck me.”
Yanking on Havoc’s leash, she urges him to follow behind her out of the park.
“See you Saturday,” I mutter as she crosses the street in the direction of her condo.
I doubt, after that epic fuck up, that she even shows.
Chapter 17
Randi
“Bullshit,” I hiss when Vic’s email finally loads.
Pacing my room, I try to figure out a way to get myself out of any further contact with Jake and somehow manage to keep my job. I know he’s a playboy. I can appeal to him using the other sexy as fuck girls on SCP’s payroll. I’m not the only one with a yoga tight body and long hair. My spine tingles at the thought of how much he likes to pull my hair when he’s fucking me.
“Enough,” I mutter when I find myself wondering what he’s doing right now.
I shoot off a text to him, just like I did ten minutes ago when the email first showed up.
After another five minutes with no response, I cave and call his phone. It rings a handful of times before his husky voice instructs me to leave a message.
Hanging up without a peep, I grab my keys and purse and head to the door.
The drive to the frat house is too fast. I’m no more prepared to see him after our rendezvous in the park than I was when I left my condo. Thankfully, his truck is in the drive, which means I won’t have to rebuild my courage twice.
