“And you’re a pig,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. She was going for incensed, but feared she came off as insolent.
“So, where is this boyfriend of yours tonight, and why was he stupid enough to let you out of the house in this?” He slipped his hand back up her thigh.
She should have moved it, but they were trapped in a moving vehicle, so it was pointless. He’d just keep coming back—that’s what she told herself anyway.
“His brother is getting married. They’re in Vegas for his bachelor party.”
“I should send his brother a thank you gift then.” CT gently massaged her leg.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
His hand crept up, centimeter by centimeter, until it reached the edge of her thong. The arm around Kensie’s shoulder pulled her closer until their foreheads met. “These are drenched.”
There it was again, the moan threatening to break free. She bit down on her bottom lip, hoping to keep it at bay. This man was more intoxicating than the tequila she’d guzzled earlier.
She didn’t mean to part her legs; it was her body reacting to the sensual torment. CT’s fingers tugged at the useless material covering her, twisting and turning before releasing it with a soft thud. She was his instrument and he played her masterfully.
“I have a boyfriend.” It was a plea and thankfully her prayers were answered. The car lurched to a stop and Kensie released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. The overhead lights sprang to life, illuminating the cabin of the van.
Slowly—so deliriously slow—CT withdrew his hand from between her legs. “Do you get this wet for him?” he asked, his voice low, garbled.
Don’t encourage him, Kensington.
Don’t encourage him.
Don’t.
“No,” she breathed.
The van parked in front of a small, blue house at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. Kensie wasn’t sure what she was expecting—maybe a frat house or an apartment above a bar—anything but the modest single-family home in the working-class neighborhood. Most of the houses on the block were in desperate need of repair, others looked outright abandoned, but what was most striking to Kensie was how normal it felt, especially since what she was feeling was anything but normal.
She followed Jam, CT, and the rest of Lithium Springs around to a narrow walkway leading to the back of the house. Her heels caught in the cobblestone path, causing the typically poised woman to stumble. It was an omen, a sign she should get the hell out of there before she fucked her life up beyond repair, and yet her legs continued to push her forward.
Music and laughter billowed from the backyard, the party in full swing. “Your neighbors won’t call the police?” she asked, curious to know how they tolerated the noise. A grunge band living at the end of the block probably didn’t do much to drive up property values.
“Nah,” Ryder said, turning his head in her direction. “Half of them are here and the other half were bought with beer and pizza.”
“It’s this douchebag’s birthday,” Javi added, playfully slapping CT on the back, “and we don’t normally rage out here, so everyone is pretty chill about it.”
A wooden fence ran the perimeter of the yard. The deck was furnished with mismatched lawn chairs, a card table, and a large, black grill rusted through on one side. To the left of the deck, in the overgrown lawn, sat a rectangular folding table with two large kegs flanking its ends. A white plastic cloth covered the table, loaded with liquor bottles, soda cans, and red, plastic cups.
To the right was a makeshift DJ booth, and as they walked through the gate, the DJ—a short man with jet-black hair—announced their arrival. “Yooooooo!” His voice bellowed out of the speakers. “It’s the motherfucking birthday boy! Happy birthday, homie.”
The crowd erupted into cheers and the thirty-plus people milling around the yard focused their attention on CT. He was greeted with fist bumps and high fives and birthday well wishes, effectively screeching an intense-looking game of flip cup to a halt.
“Alright, it’s turn-up time!” the DJ yelled. Kensie watched as he retrieved a long black ski from under his table. There were four shot glasses glued to the top and he filled each with whiskey. He and the guys from the band lined up behind the ski and the crowd began to sing Happy Birthday in unison.
On the final word of the song, the guys adjusted themselves so everyone’s mouth lined up with their respective glass and downed the shots in one gulp.
“Jam!” Kensie yelled to her friend over the music. “I need to use the restroom!”
Jam nodded and pointed towards the house. “This way.”
Kensie followed her friend through the back door and into the kitchen. It was tiny and outdated, but clean. The walls were painted a faded yellow and the appliances looked as if they hadn’t been replaced since the house was originally built. It reminded Kensie of something she’d seen in one of the ’80s sitcoms she watched with her dad.
The restroom was at the end of a narrow hall. A small line formed outside the door. “Everything okay?” Jam asked as they took their place at the back of the line. The two girls in front of them were Snapchatting about being “at a Lithium party” and the guy ahead of them looked like he was drunk, or high, or some combination of the two.
“What the fuck am I doing?! He keeps…and I can’t seem to…what the fuck am I doing?”
“I was going to ask you the same.” Jam arched a brow.
“It’s like I can’t think straight when he’s near me,” Kensie confessed, running her fingers through her long brown hair. Between the hot, cramped club and the heavy petting in the van, what were once bouncy, beach waves had transformed into a tangled mess. “What am I going to tell Trey? I’m a terrible person.”
Jamie rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Roth, loosen up. You’re young and hot and most importantly, fuck Trey. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
Kensie never understood her friend’s hatred of her boyfriend. He’d always been polite to Jamie, and yet she barely tolerated him. “I love him.”
The line inched forward. “Kensie, I love you, I really do. You’re my best friend and as such, I feel like it’s my duty to tell you this, Trey’s an asshole.”
“Jam!”
“No, let me get this out, just this once, and I promise I’ll never say anything about it again.”
Kensie nodded her agreement.
“He’s turning you into this perfect little Stepford wife.”
“No, he is not.”
“You promised to let me finish.”
“Fine, finish.” Her words were tight. She knew where this was going.
“I get it. It’s easier to fit in, and Trey is like a parents’ wet dream. Honestly, I’m not judging you,” Jam said, “but you know what I went through last year with Jared and my dad. I just want you to make sure Trey is what you want, not what your parents want for you.”
Last year, Jamie’s dad had tried to force her to marry the man who bought his company, despite her being in love with Ryder. Jared had wanted to mold Jamie into the perfect wife. They had been completely wrong for each other, but Kensie and Trey’s relationship was different.
“I love him, Jam. He isn’t Jared,” Kensie said, not sure if she was trying to convince her friend or herself.
“Then what’s the problem? CT’s harmless. If you tell him to leave you alone, he will.”
Kensie chose her next words carefully. “I…there’s something about him.”
“You want to fuck him.” Jamie grinned, crossing her arms over her chest. It was more a statement than a question. Of course, she wanted to fuck him. Her body felt his absence since they’d exited the van. She missed his touch, she ached for it.
On paper, Trey was perfect. He went to the right schools, he had the right family name, and he was handsome. The total package. But one look from the scumbag covered in tattoos and Kensington was willing to throw all of it away. And for what? CT made it cl
ear he was only looking for sex, and Kensie was the relationship type. It was as much a part of her DNA as her brown hair and type A blood.
“I don’t know what I want,” she huffed. The line moved again and the two girls in front of them went into the bathroom giggling at something on their phones.
“Stop overthinking this. He’s hot, you’re hot, and Trey is in Las Vegas. I’ve never seen anyone we know in this neighborhood and you literally never have to see CT again after tonight. Just relax, have fun, and let whatever happens, happen.”
Kensie let out a long, cleansing breath. Jam was right. She could have fun and she could flirt, but she didn’t have to have sex. She wouldn’t have sex with him. After tonight, she never had to think about CT or Lithium Springs again.
After using the restroom, Kensie made her way back down the hallway, through the kitchen and into the backyard. Jam and the guys from the band were gathered around the flip cup table taking turns chugging beers and flipping cups.
“Just have fun, Roth,” Kensie told herself.
Determined to ease her nerves, she walked over to one of the kegs. No more tequila for her tonight. She needed to be focused if she was going to keep CT out from under the hem of her tiny, red dress.
She hadn’t tapped a keg since her days at USC. Kensie had loved her time at college. Being away from the Seattle elite had changed her, making her more aware of the world outside her small bubble. Being at CT’s birthday party, with her very expensive heels sinking deeper and deeper into the mud, reminded her of the girl she had been back then. Fuck this, she thought kicking her heels off. She twisted her chocolate hair up into a topknot and began pumping the keg.
“You’re good at that,” CT said, coming up behind her and taking the faucet from her to refill his cup.
“Thanks. Happy birthday, by the way.” Kensie dipped down to scoop up her shoes. She silently reminded herself of her no-sex vow, choosing to ignore the way her skin ignited when he was near.
CT followed quietly behind. Kensie felt his eyes on her, burning a hole through her dress. “Can you not stare at my ass, please?”
“I can’t help it,” he laughed, his voice dripping sex. “You have a very nice ass. I’ve been fantasizing about bending you over and licking you from here to here.” CT dragged his knuckle down the small of her back, between her butt, and finally stopped at her core. Hooking his fingers around the back edge of her thong, he gently pulled and released, plucking at her panties as if they were strings on a guitar. Tiny jolts shot through her. She didn’t even bother to see if anyone noticed his hand disappearing under her dress—she was too busy trying to remember to breathe.
Kensie wasn’t sure why she was so drawn to him. At most, he was a self-indulgent asshole, and at the least, he suffered from a severe case of Peter Pan syndrome. He treated her like she was a piece of meat, something around solely for his pleasure, yet she reveled in it.
“Also, can you stop putting your hand up my skirt?” She was surprised at how strong her voice sounded, almost like she meant every word.
Almost.
“For now.” He shrugged, removing his hand, and straightened her skirt. “But make no mistake, tonight you are mine.”
CT was a bad influence. Kensie tasted his corruption on her tongue. Her inhibitions floated away during the second round of flip cup. By the fourth, he’d redefined her definition of French kissing. Trey’s kiss was soft and gentle. He worshiped her, he loved her, but CT, he owned her. His kiss was rough, aggressive. It was as if he was staking his claim, driving the point home with each stroke of his tongue. He kissed her with an intensity so fierce, the rest of the party faded from existence.
As the night wore on, Kensie found herself on the couch, sandwiched between CT and Jamie. CT’s arm planted firmly, possessively around her shoulder, as he and his friends reminisced about the time they accidently booked a gig at a biker bar. The bikers were pissed because Lithium Springs wasn’t a Rascal Flatts cover band and things got tense.
“Bullshit, C,” Ryder said, barely containing his laugh. “You almost shit your pants.”
“I did not,” CT countered, moving his hand from around Kensie’s neck to point to his bandmate. “You were the one promising God to change your ways if we made it out of there alive.”
It was nice. Laughing and drinking and talking. Kensie couldn’t remember a time when she felt so carefree. She also couldn’t remember a time where Jam looked happier. What she was doing was morally and fundamentally wrong, but Kensie also loved being able to see this side of Jam.
Their friendship took a hit when Kensie met Trey, but for the first time in almost a year, things felt right between them, even if every other decision she made that night was wrong.
“You two fuckers were both terrified,” Javi added with a yawn. He looked up at the girl on his lap, Stacy or Tracy—Kensie hadn’t bothered to remember—with lust shining in his eyes. “I’m beat.” He kissed the girl on the shoulder, helping her to her feet. “Happy birthday, man.” He nodded to CT before disappearing up the stairs.
The DJ popped his head in the living room. “Yo, I’m out.” He jerked his thumb toward the back.
“I’m going to walk him out,” CT said, kissing Kensie’s forehead. He and Ryder stood and sauntered out the door, leaving Kensie alone with Jam.
“What the fuck am I doing?”
Jamie looked at her for a moment, assessing. “What do you want to do, babe? We can go home. It’s not too late.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Kensie admitted, heat rising in her cheeks. Once again, she couldn’t bring herself to look her friend in the eye. “He’s so intense, my brain turns to mush around him.”
“Honestly, Ken, I think you have the same effect on him. I’ve never seen him look at another girl the way he looks at you and, trust me, there are always girls hanging around them. Usually, he ignores them until the end of the night, picks one to fuck, then he gives her the boot.”
Kensie winced. “I’m just like them. He’s only trying so hard because I told him about Trey. I think he likes the challenge.”
“No offense, but you aren’t putting up much of a challenge.”
Kensie could always count on Jam to be honest—brutal—but honest nonetheless, and she was right. Kensie could have told CT to stop. She could have told him no, but she didn’t. She wanted him, but she didn’t want to lose Trey. “What should I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
Before Kensie had a chance to answer, the boys reappeared in the living room. The drummer stalked towards her like a lion to a gazelle. His bright tattoos swirled out from under the sleeves of the white Lithium Springs t-shirt stretched across his chest. He was lean, all muscle, the kind of muscles you can only get from working out every day. He raked his fingers through his overgrown brown hair; his tongue swept across his lips as he took her in.
When he bent over the couch, trapping her between his arms, his face was only inches from hers. “What do you want?” he asked, repeating Jamie’s question. Kensie sat there, barefoot, legs tucked under her body, and hair pulled up into a messy knot, fully prepared to tell him she was going home. That she couldn’t—that she wouldn’t—cross that line. She was fully prepared to say and do all the things she should have said from the first moments in the van.
“I-I think-I want another beer.”
CT’s answering grin was panty-melting.
Coulda.
Woulda.
Shoulda.
Discarded cups and soda cans littered the grass. Kensie chugged the rest of her beer and quietly began to pick up the trash. She felt CT’s eyes on her, but she ignored him, happy for the temporary distraction. After a beat, he joined her in clearing the yard. It took them about fifteen minutes to bag all the trash. Then, Kensie walked to the flip cup table and began to clean it too. She was stalling. She’d made up her mind; whatever was happening between them, was happening, but the cold beer and the few minutes of calm centered her.
CT sauntered up behind her, his hands on her waist. His head dropped to her neck and he placed small kisses at the base of her throat. One hand moved around to her front and the other pulled her dress up, exposing her little black thong. He palmed her pert rear end before continuing his journey around her body, pulling at the thong, balling the fabric in his fist, yanking it up. The friction against her clit made her knees wobble.
“You’re so responsive. I’ve barely even touched you,” he breathed into her ear.
A warm tingle trickled between her legs. “You’ve been teasing me all night,” she moaned, grinding her ass against him. She felt him growing larger with every movement.
Her panties were bunched between her folds, as he stroked her. His touch electrifying her bare flesh.
“Me?” he asked, releasing her. “This fucking dress has had my dick hard all night, that plus all your lip biting. We almost didn’t make it out of the van.”
“You’re a pig,” she whimpered. Trey’s face floated through the tequila-induced fog in her mind. This was bad, really bad, but she couldn’t stop now—not with his erection pressing against her ass. She needed to feel him on the inside. She was dying for it.
Kensington was the perfect princess. Prim and proper, a classic beauty. Men worshipped at her feet, but not CT—CT with all his tattoos and muscles, he used her. He took from her body without permission. Not that he needed it. Kensie could be a good little slut, too.
CT hooked the strings of her thong with his thumbs and dragged it down her thighs. Kensie lifted one foot and then the other, helping him remove the useless garment, bending to his will, soft, pliable. She’d give him whatever he wanted, and in turn she’d take what she craved.
Kensie longed to be used, to be fucked.
A rush of excitement coursed through her veins as CT lowered to his knees behind her. His rough beard scratched her soft skin. He was the Big Bad Wolf and Kensie was his willing captive. He kissed and licked and bit her behind. His long arm reached up her back, pushing her forward, her stomach flush against the table, her bottom perfectly aligned with his face. “You have a very nice ass, Kensie,” he growled, and she moaned in response, arching her back, granting him full access.
Lithium Tides: A Lithium Springs Novel Page 2
