Back at the table and I distribute the drinks. Megan sucks half hers down in one gulp. I know her type. Party girl to the max. A petite little thing that could probably outdrink and outfuck pretty much anyone in this room.
“So you’re obviously not from around here,” she says to me.
“He’s from London,” Emma tells her. “But he was born here.”
“In L.A.?”
I nod. “In L.A. A fact that I actively try to forget.”
“You’re just in town for a few days, then?”
“I plan to head back to London on Monday.” I take a sip of my drink. “So what is it the two of you do?”
“We’re students,” Emma says.
“And what are you studying?”
“Well, I’m studying architecture and Megan’s a scriptwriter.”
“The architect and the writer.” I nod. “Sounds like the two of you are in the right place, then.”
“Emma’s actually an artist,” Megan says.
Emma blushes. “Not like a working artist or anything. It’s more like a hobby.”
Megan shakes her head. “That’s total bullshit. Emma’s a really great painter.”
“Architecture is a type of art, isn’t it?” I ask.
“I guess, but it’s not the art that she’s into. She’s only doing the architecture thing because her dad wants her to.”
“And because it seems like it’d be pretty hard to make it as an artist,” Emma says. “I mean, I’m not that good.”
“You’re plenty good.” Megan looks at me. “I’ve been telling her that for as long as I can remember. Maybe you should tell her, too. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”
“I don’t know if she’s any good. And is that why we’re here tonight, to talk about art?”
They exchange that look again. Is he or isn’t he being a total asshole? Is that or is that not a complete turn on?
“What I meant by that,” I say, backpedaling just a bit, “is that it would be wrong of me to tell someone they had talent at something if they didn’t. It’s nothing personal—it just doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. Which is not to say, Emma, that I don’t think your art would be sublime.”
I finish my gin and tonic. It’s pretty watered down, if you want to know the truth. A fine example of what ten dollars can get you here in L.A. “I’m going to get another drink,” I say, standing. “Can I get you ladies another as well?”
“Sure, why not,” Megan says.
This time, both girls remain at the table, I’m sure to discuss whether or not continuing with the evening would be a good idea. I order two more martinis for the girls and get myself a shot of Jameson this time, neat. I’ve always had a high tolerance for drink, so I down the shot while the bartender’s mixing the martinis. I get another shot once the girls’ drinks are ready and bring it all back to the table.
“Thanks for buying the drinks,” Emma says. She reaches to get hers and her hand misses almost completely, her thumb at the last second jabbing into the side of the glass, sending about half the contents sloshing over the side. “Oh shit!” She starts giggling. “Maybe you did slip something in my drink.”
“Perhaps, but you haven’t even had any of it yet and have just spilled about half of it all over the table.” I smile. She’s biting her lip trying to control the laughter and I wonder if she knows how beautiful she looks. “Or maybe you’re just a lightweight.”
She tries to rearrange her face into a scowl. “I am not a lightweight!” she says, slapping my shoulder. But the flush in her cheeks, the brightness of her eyes, that suggests otherwise. I down my shot.
“You can certainly hold your alcohol,” Megan says, draining the last drops of her own drink. I give her a mock salute with my empty shot glass.
“Well, Emma,” she says, pushing back from the table, “since it appears Jai hasn’t slipped you any roofies or GHB, I think it’s safe for me to make my exit. Also, I think I see Michael Fassbender over there. I need to go make his acquaintance.” She gives Emma a peck on the cheek. “Text me later, okay?”
“I will,” Emma says. “Thanks.”
Now Megan looks at me. “It was nice to meet you. You better be good to my friend or I’m going to cut your dick off, okay? And that’s not a threat—it’s a promise.” She gives me a sweet-as-sugar smile and then is gone.
“She’s charming,” I say.
“She’s my best friend.” Emma watches as Megan disappears in the crowd, a fond expression on her face. “Plus, it’d be her fault if something bad happened, because she’s the one that signed me up for that dating site in the first place.”
“Now, is that really true? Why would she do that?”
“My ex and I broke up about six months ago and she thinks that it’s been long enough and I need to get back into the game. Which I’ve been a little slow about doing. And the batteries in my vibrator died.” Emma dissolves into giggles. “I’m sorry—I can’t believe I just said that. I think . . . I think maybe my next drink should be water. I had some wine before we came over to the hotel. You must think I’m awful.” The giggles keep coming, and she’s trying to stop them by pressing her lips together, but it’s not working.
“I don’t think you’re awful at all,” I say. And it’s true. She’s not. What I do think, though, is that I wish she was a little less wonderful, because she’s girlfriend material, not just some random hookup. This is not the type of girl you get with just for a booty call, but I wonder if it’s too late for that. I’d actually been thinking about that on the plane ride over here. What if I had a girlfriend? Nothing like an impending wedding to get you thinking about your own relationship status. Not if I had a girlfriend I’d actually bring her to this wedding, but I’ve never really had a serious relationship. A twenty-four-year-old guy is generally considered free to go about and fuck whomever he wants. None of my friends are married and only a (small) handful are in what could be described as committed relationships (and of this small group, at least two are having affairs). This is not to say I haven’t had relations with women. Oh there have been plenty, and I know there could be plenty more, but more and more lately, the thought that perhaps I should try to get a proper girlfriend has entered my mind. I’m not sure why that is. I’m getting older? Some biological urge? A desire for stability? For someone to come home to at night? I don’t know. And then I land in L.A. and it’s just all these blond plastic people who only give a shit about how they look and how much money you have and who you know. But now this girl, who is very un-L.A., in a very good way, but we’re just supposed to hook up and be done with it. Ah, the irony.
Emma’s still trying to get the giggles under control. “Thanks,” she says. “For not thinking I’m awful for talking about my vibrator.”
“I don’t believe there is a man alive on this planet that would think it would be awful to hear a beautiful woman talk about her vibrator. It’s rather a turn on, actually. Which I suppose, leads me to my next question: Now that your friend has left and you’ve established I’m not a complete psychopath, would you care to come back to my room?”
She presses her lips together, and I imagine what it would be like to kiss them, to take her bottom lip between my teeth, to bite down hard enough so she really feels it, but not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to suggest the pain that would inevitably come, were any more pressure to be exerted.
Those lips relax into a smile. “Yes,” she says. “I would like that very much.
Chapter Four
Emma
I feel as though I’m half walking, half floating back to Jai’s room. As we leave the bar, I realize people are looking at us—looking at him, really—because they think he’s a celebrity they just don’t recognize. He puts his hand on my lower back as we navigate our way through a crowd in the lobby. I can feel the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of my dress. As we’re standing, waiting for the elevator, he starts to move his index finger in slow circles, right above my tailbone.
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“I forget who it was, but Megan was telling me about it on the way up.” Shit. He wasn’t supposed to know that Megan and I had already been up to his room. “I mean . . .”
“I’d imagine quite a few people have had sex in here,” he says. He winks, and I don’t know if it’s because he knows we were outside his door or because he thinks I’m saying that I want to have sex in the elevator, too.
We get back to the room, and my previous resolve to just consume water is completely forgotten when he raids the minibar. It’s mostly hard stuff, whiskey, vodka, and a couple bottles of wine. He has the whiskey, so I have some too, and it burns my throat as I take one sip, then another, feeling the heat flare on my cheeks. I feel as though I’m viewing everything through a soft, gauzy lens, the room pleasantly shifting every once in a while beneath my feet. He’s standing in front of me, and he takes a step closer, then another.
“I’ve been trying to restrain myself all night,” he says, leaning down so his breath hot against my ear. “But I don’t think I’m going to be able to much longer.” He tilts my face toward his, the tips of our noses almost touching. He’s so gorgeous. His eyes are this dark, dark blue, like the deepest ocean water, and his skin is perfectly smooth and blemish-free. His cheeks have a dark shadow of stubble, and I reach out and run my fingertips down the side of his face. It’s like sandpaper on top of velvet. His nose is long and straight, his jaw square and clearly defined. I don’t think I’ve ever actually been this close to someone who is so handsome.
“I think you’re the hottest man I have ever seen,” I say.
He smiles. “I think you’re quite tipsy.”
“I am, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve certainly lucked out on my first one night stand.”
His smile deepens and then he leans in, a little closer, a little closer, our lips just brushing at first, but once that first contact is made, he brings both hands up to the sides of my face and holds me there, his mouth pressed hard against mine, his fingers probing the muscles in my neck. There’s no awkward banging of teeth or my mouth moving one way while his moves the other—even though I’m drunk and the room might be swaying, it’s the easiest thing in the world to kiss him, like it’s exactly what our mouths were designed to do.
I run my hands down his sides, feel the tautness of his waist, the smooth skin, what I expect will be washboard abs when he finally takes his shirt off. He pulls back from the kiss, rests his forehead against mine. Both of us are breathing heavily.
“Let’s get you out of this dress, shall we?”
He slides one spaghetti strap off my shoulder, then the other, and all it takes is a little wiggling of my hips and the dress cascades down to a puddle on the floor. He takes his own shirt off, revealing those washboard abs, along with a smoothly defined chest, and the sort of muscular shoulders that make you sort of wish you could just take a big bite out of them.
We go over to the bed, Jai unbuttoning his pants and stepping out of them. He’s not wearing boxers or underwear of any type, so there he is, all of him. He’s got an erection and his cock is big and beautiful and all I can think of is how badly I want him inside of me.
“This is nice,” he says, sliding a finger underneath the strap of my bra.
“Lingerie is my daily secret.” I reach out and touch his cock, the head first, then move my hand slowly down the shaft, pressing on the ridge that runs along the back. He groans softly. My mouth waters.
“Daily secret?”
“I like to wear sexy lingerie, even when I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Which is most of the time.”
“That’s quite a turn on.”
“It’s really just for me. It makes me feel sexy.”
“You already are. Fuck, that feels good.” He reaches around and unhooks my bra. “This is lovely lingerie, but I know what is underneath is even lovelier. You have an amazing body, you do know that, I hope.”
“You do, too.”
We lie back. He begins kissing my breasts, running his tongue in slow circles around each nipple. My skin tingles. Then he lifts his head and we begin kissing again, harder, deeper than before. He pushes my underwear down and slides a hand between my legs. I gasp.
“You’re wet,” he breathes, in between kisses. “That’s good.”
He slides one finger into me, swiveling it around a few times, then making the come here gesture. My breath comes in short, quick gasps. He slides the finger out, rubbing the wetness over my clit, massaging it gently before inserting two fingers into me, creating a feeling of fullness that’s both familiar and foreign. I writhe against his hand, wanting more of him in me, knowing the only thing that’s going to fulfill me is that cock of his.
“I want you to fuck me,” I gasp.
He looks at my face, still moving his fingers inside me. “Oh, I will,” he says. “But I’m going to make you wait for it.”
He’s getting me closer and closer to coming, but it’s like he can sense it, and each time I almost reach the point of no return, he stops, he caresses my inner thighs, he kisses my breasts, he nips gently at my throat.
Then he’s pulled his hand away. I hear the tearing of foil, and a few moments later Jai is on top of me, and he’s got my arms above my head, gripping my wrists. He spreads my legs by pushing my thighs with his knee, and I feel the head of his cock right there at my pussy, and he’s looking me in the eye as he moves his hips forward, just enough so the tip of his dick goes in, but no further.
“I’m going to start to cry if you don’t start fucking me properly,” I say. I try to wriggle around to get more of him in me, but he tightens his grip on my wrists. I am completely at his mercy. I couldn’t escape right now, even if I wanted to, but of course I don’t.
He is SexyStranger after all. He’s only here in town for a couple days, and then he’ll be off, back to England, presumably, and I’ll never see him again. Even in my drunken haze I can recognize how liberating that is, to be able to have sex with someone that you’re never going to see again. With Tom, the sex was perfectly fine, but we were so used to each other. But Jai . . . he’s my sexy stranger, and I feel like I can be anyone. I can suddenly be myself in a way that I never really felt like I could with Tom, only because we’d gotten used to each other and thought we knew exactly what the other wanted. I struggle against Jai, feeling his grip tighten on me. I twist my torso back and forth a bit and pull my arms, but not hard enough that he’d think I’d actually want him to let go. I don’t—I love the weight of his body against mine, pinning me down.
“You want me to let you go?” he whispers. “You’re pulling like you want to get away, but I don’t think you actually do.”
“No,” I say. He stretches my arms a little further above my head. “I don’t want you to let me go.”
“You’re going to get fucked good and proper,” he says. “But I think I’m going to do a few things to you first.”
“You’re not . . . you’re not going to come all over my tits are you?” I blurt this out without actually thinking about what I’m saying, how it’s going to sound to him.
He stops what he’s doing and a look of confusion crosses his face, just for a second. “Huh?” he says. “That’s a bit random, isn’t it? Would you like me to come all over your tits? Are you into that sort of thing?”
“It’s just . . . that seems like that’s what most guys want to do.” Tom did, anyway. I think he liked to see how covered he could leave me, or he liked leaving himself on me, like a dog leaving it’s mark on a bush or something.
Jai raises an eyebrow. “I’m not most guys. And I wasn’t planning on doing that. I thought this was your first one night stand, anyway.”
“It is.” I decide not to mention Tom. “My friends like to share some of the intimate details of their trysts.”
“Well, let’s give you a few details of your own to sh
are with them,” he says. “And you know what? I’m not going to fuck you like this. Flip over.”
I get on my hands and knees and feel him positioning himself behind me. “You come across as this sweet good girl, but you’ve got a nasty side to you, don’t you? I can tell you do, and maybe you just haven’t felt like you could let that side of you come out.”
“Maybe a little,” I say, groaning as the head of his cock pushes into me.
He slaps my ass. “You like that?”
“Yes.”
His dick moves in further. He slaps my ass again, harder this time, hard enough that it stings, but the pain is inextricably bound with this delicious pleasure that seems to be radiating from every pore of my body.
He starts pistoning his hips, pushing himself further and further into me until I can feel him bumping too deep each time he thrusts. It’s mildly uncomfortable, so I shift and suddenly his cock is hitting just the right spot.
“Oh my God,” I whimper. My entire body is alive, a thin sheen of sweat covering my skin, every nerve ending on fire.
“That feel good?” he asks, his voice like a growl. “You like that?”
He slaps my ass again, then I feel his hands wrap around my hair, pulling it off my shoulders. He tugs a little, forcing me to raise my head, arch my back, which means he’s hitting that spot even more intensely, and the feeling is like a cyclone of pure bliss, this tingling that’s almost unbearable in how fucking good it feels. It’s like my heart is going to explode out of my chest, my breath is coming faster and faster, he’s thrusting into me, one hand still wrapped up in my hair, the other gripping my hip, holding me in place.
“Fuck yes,” he says. “You’re gonna get it. Are you ready? You’re gonna get it, just for being such . . . a . . . good . . . girl . . .”
I can barely hear what he’s saying anymore. My world has shrunk to nothing else than that feeling of him inside of me, and for a second I think it’s going to totally consume me, obliterate me, my first one night stand will end up with me spontaneously combusting.
Side Swiped By My Step Brother Page 3
