“The fuck?” he asks, looking pissed.
I fight everything inside of me not to melt at the beauty of his gray eyes and his gorgeous face, so close to mine.
“Get off of me,” I grind out between clenched teeth.
“Not leavin’ this cunt anytime soon, babe,” he announces. I feel my face heat.
“I’m not on anything, you asshole,” I snip.
Fury is looking at me like a beautiful, pissed off, god of a man. A beautiful, pissed off, god of a man that has no damn right to be pissed off – at all. He finally chooses to pull out of me and stands up. I roll over onto my back, grabbing my sheet and pulling it over my naked breasts.
“Then you’ll get that pill they’re always talking about, and then you’ll get on the pill,” he announces as he plants his fists on his hips.
I stare at him, jaw agape. This asshole cannot be fucking serious with me right now.
“I don’t believe in the morning after pill,” I say. He grunts before he responds.
“What’s not to believe? You take it and it takes care of it,” he mutters.
“You need to leave,” I say quietly.
“The fuck?” he asks, looking genuinely confused.
If I wasn’t so pissed, I might laugh at the look on his handsome face.
“You fucked me with no protection, and then you expect me to compromise my morals, because you fucked up? Get out of my house,” I say, a bit firmer.
“Crazy bitch,” he bites out, sliding his jeans up his hips.
“I’m not the one fucking girls with no protection, asshole,” I grind out as I stand and walk over to his stupid leather vest thing.
I take it in my hand and shove it against his chest as soon as he slides his shirt over his head.
“Should have stayed with the club whores instead of trying to deal with a civilian, princess cunt,” he grumbles.
I watch as he finishes getting dressed.
“Yeah, maybe you should be fucking whores—bitches who don’t give a shit about silly little things like protection.”
I’ve had it.
He takes a step toward me and tangles his fingers in my hair, wrenching my head back, arching my neck, and forcing my eyes to meet his.
“You’re a crazy fuckin’ bitch, you know that?” he mutters, his eyes focused on mine.
“I must be if I let you inside me,” I retort childishly.
“Still want to fuck you, though,” he murmurs as his lips crash down onto mine.
I struggle against him for a moment, but then succumb to his kiss. I refuse to open my mouth for him, though. He slides his tongue over my lips, but I resist — hardest resistance of my damn life.
“Get out or I’ll call the police,” I whisper once he breaks away from me. I have to give the warning. If I don’t, if he doesn’t leave, I’ll lie back down and spread my legs for him again.
“You’re a Crazy fucking cunt,” he growls. He walks away from me, slamming my front door behind him.
I listen for his motorcycle’s rumble before I sink to the floor of my room, in nothing but the sheet wrapped around my body.
I cry.
I am such an idiot. Such a fool. I slept with a stranger, a complete stranger. I talked myself into some kind of illusion that he was good, that he was safe. In reality, he was a fucking asshole, like every other man.
I didn’t matter to him. Not really. Just my body. Why would I matter to him, anyway? I’m just some stupid girl who spread her legs as soon as he pointed those gorgeous gray eyes her way. He could have whoever he wanted, and for a night, he wanted me. He’ll probably never think of me again, and I’ll do nothing but regret the one time I decided to throw caution to the wind.
I am such a naïve idiot.
I cry myself to sleep on the floor, and that is where I stay until Monday morning rolls around.
The following week goes by in a haze. I half expect to have Fury barrel through my office or my home. But he doesn’t. By the end of the week, I’ve given up on ever seeing him again. He got what he wanted and he didn’t want anymore.
Just like Jason.
It’s me. I’m not worth keeping around.
Kentlee
It’s been two weeks since I made Fury leave my home. I haven’t heard a word from him. Every single time the front door opens at work, I look up, holding my breath in hopes that it’s him.
Why do I still want him?
What is wrong with me that I want this rough man?
I want his lips on mine, and I want to hear his dirty words whispered in my ear. I want him to pin me down, immobilize me, and fuck me until i scream. I’m so screwed up.
“What’s up with you, girl?” Marcy asks one day after coming back from her lunch.
“Nothing,” I murmur as I pretend to be busy.
“You’ve been sulking for two weeks. Tell me,” she urges. I shake my head and plaster on a fake smile.
“I’m good, I swear,” I say brightly.
“You’re a shit liar,” she chuckles, walking away from me.
I pick up my phone and contemplate calling Brentlee to tell her about my man troubles. It would be nice to have someone to talk to.
Marcy is friendly, but I don’t know her well enough to know if she’d keep quiet or blab my problems around town.
I sigh and turn back to my work.
I need some girlfriends.
Fury
Another bottle of Jack and another blow job from Kitty.
My days are melting together.
I still want the little blonde secretary. I still want Kentlee. I close my eyes, relishing in the spinning feeling I have going on, and think about her.
It’s been three weeks since I’ve laid eyes on her. Three weeks since I’ve been inside of her. Yet, my memory of her isn’t fading, no matter how much I drink, or how many times Kitty sucks my cock dry. It’s always Kentlee in my thoughts. Always Kentlee’s face I see before I pass out. Just her.
How this bitch got under my skin after one fuck, I have no goddamned clue. The only think I know is that I want her under my body again, soon. I pass out thinking about how her skin tasted, wanting her again.
The next morning, I wake in a shitty mood, like I have every morning for the past three weeks.
“What’s wrong with you, you surly bastard?” Dirty Johnny asks me with a frown.
“Nothin’,” I grumble, pouring myself a cup of coffee. It probably tastes like fuckin’ shit, but I need something for my pounding fuckin’ head.
“That bitch get under your skin?” he chuckles. I narrow my eyes on him. “She’s a hot piece, brother. I get it.”
“You don’t know shit,” I grunt.
“Yeah, I don’t know a fuckin’ thing,” he says before he flips me off and walks away.
Fuck that asshole. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, even if he’s semi-right. Kentlee is a hot piece and she’s under my skin, but not just because of her hot, wet cunt. No, it’s also because she took what I gave and fuckin’ loved it. But then she got in my face when I pissed her off. Made me hard, then wounded my pride when she didn’t immediately back down.
Kentlee is going to take effort. I’m not sure I want to put in that kind of work on a side bitch. I want soft and sweet, but I don’t want to be questioned. Kentlee is going to question the fuck out of me and test my patience.
But I want her.
I want her to take me as I am. Take what I can give and not give me any shit.
I walk outside to my bike and straddle it. I need a long ride.
An hour later, I end up downtown, watching Kentlee’s office. When she walks out for her lunch break, she takes my breath away. Her blonde hair is down and sleek, her skirt tight on her hips, encasing her thick ass and thighs. Fuck, I want in there — right now.
It takes everything inside of me not to march across the street and fuck her on the sidewalk for the world to see.
Instead, I watch her. I watch her ass sway as she goes into a
little café and sits down with her phone in her hand.
Then, I leave.
She doesn’t need me in her life, fuckin’ shit up. But I’ll probably do it anyway. I want her. I can’t stop thinking about her and I’ve never not taken what I want. I’ll leave her alone for now, but when she least expects it I’m taking her again.
Kentlee
I predicted it.
I knew this was what was going to happen.
No way a man that big, that burly, that fucking manly wouldn’t have super sperm, too. Dr. Parker confirms it for me with a sad smile and a shake of his head. I should have gone to the free clinic or something, but I didn’t feel like I could trust a free clinic with my body.
Dr. Parker has been my doctor since the day I turned eighteen. He is a kind, older man who is not only my doctor, but Brentlee and my mother’s, as well. His wife is best friends with my mother, and I can only hope that he keeps his doctor-patient confidentiality just that, confidential— and that he doesn’t tell his wife, or my mother.
“I want to see you back here in four weeks, Kentlee,” he says softly, breaking me out of my mental freak out.
“Four weeks, okay,” I shrug, agreeing.
My head is foggy and I feel both nauseous and dizzy all at the same time.
“The father…” he begins. I shake my head.
“There isn’t one,” I confess. He smirks at me, his eyes still sad.
“So just like Mary, this was an immaculate conception? Shall we call the Pope then?” he says, trying to joke.
I can’t joke right now — nothing is funny.
“It doesn’t matter who the father is,” I correct. He looks at me, disappointment clearly etched in his features.
“Every man deserves to know he’s going to be a father, Kentlee. Let it be his choice if he wishes to be involved or not, but tell him about the child,” he counsels.
I thank him and leave the room, making the next appointment before going straight home. It is well after five in the evening and I need to decompress. I need to think about my life and re-evaluate my entire situation.
Every man deserves to know he’s going to be a father.
The words Dr. Parker said to me are on replay in my head.
I bite the side of my lip.
Dr. Parker is right.
Every man deserves to know if he is going to father a child.
I will let Fury decide what he wants to do with the information, but I am going to give him all of the information.
I think I pretty much know what his answer will be, based on the only real conversation we shared after the most amazing sex of my life. He will want me to take care of it.
There is no way in hell I could do that. It is unthinkable. I don’t believe in abortion; and beyond that, I can’t imagine killing anything, let alone an innocent child that I carry inside of my body.
I could put the baby up for adoption, I think to myself as I place my hand on my lower belly and gently caress my still flat stomach.
There is a living being inside of me and it’s a part of me, and part of Fury. I don’t think I could give away a life I created, either. I am twenty-three years old; I’m not a teenager anymore.
I’m an adult, and responsible adults take care of their lives, the mistakes they make, and whatever God throws at them. I can’t move back home, but I can adjust my life. I can give up my sweet Camaro for something more practical and affordable.
Money will be tight, but as long as I budget, I could probably squeak by. I can do this. I will do this — with or without a man’s help.
I decide to spend the evening trying to keep the baby and Fury off of my mind. Once I am home, I make a piece of toast and slather it with honey before I put a movie on. My distractions are fruitless. Not only does the sweet toast make me nauseous, but the movie does nothing to keep my mind off of the man and our baby.
Fury hasn’t really left my thoughts since I saw him that first time after my sister’s bridal dress shopping day. He’s right there in my head—consuming my thoughts, he’s wormed his way in and now, I’m afraid I’ll never be free of him.
I shouldn’t want to want him—at all.
But I do.
I want him so badly. It has nothing to do with the baby growing inside of me and everything to do with how I felt with him. Those few moments where he made me feel the most desired I have ever felt in my life and gave me the most perfect orgasm I have ever had. Just thinking about it again sends a shiver up my spine.
After another movie and a ginger ale to settle my stomach, I can’t handle it anymore. I need to tell him. I need to get it off of my chest.
I look over at the clock for the time — ten in the evening.
There is no better time than the present to tell the man the truth. I know that if I wait, I will never say the words to him. I’ll chicken out.
I need to tell him now—not tomorrow and not next week. I just pray that he isn’t cruel to me. I have been an emotionally unstable, crazy, hormonal person the past week, and I can’t handle anymore insanity.
I take a deep breath and change into a pair of ripped up, old jeans that fit perfectly—for now—and a favorite V-neck, loose t-shirt. My long blonde hair is down and a bit wild, my makeup practically nonexistent, subtle and light.
This isn’t a beauty contest
I’m not man hunting. I’ve had the man, and although he was wickedly delicious, he is an asshole of epic proportions. I don’t plan on going back there with him. Ever. Even if he is my baby daddy. No matter how badly I want him. Oh fuck, I’m so full of shit. One look from his gray eyes and I’ll probably melt into a puddle of mush on the floor.
I pull into the clubhouse’s dirt lot and notice dozens of motorcycles parked in neat, straight lines. Everybody in town knows where the Notorious Devil’s clubhouse is, but that doesn’t mean that I have ever been inside of it before.
I walk up to the door and open it, surprised that they don’t have a man standing guard. I would think a bunch of outlaws would have some guy on security duty, screening people who come inside.
The smell of smoke permeates the room, as does beer, sweat, and sex.
I scrunch up my nose at the latter.
My eyes roam over the space and I shudder.
There are men and women everywhere. The women are wearing either nothing, or next to nothing. The men are all decked out in jeans and leather. It is basically everything I had envisioned. Big men groping and screwing girls that look like they’re one step away from the street corner.
“Kentlee? What the fuck you doin’ here?” I swing around to see Jonathan Williams, a boy I went to school with, standing just a few inches from me.
“I’m looking for Fury,” I explain wide-eyed.
I didn’t even know Johnny Williams knew my name. He was one of the hottest guys in school, and now he’s even hotter, covered in ink with lean muscles and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He grins and shakes his head before lifting his chin toward the bar.
“He don’t know you’re comin’ does he?” Johnny asks. The answer dies on my tongue as soon as my eyes find Fury.
Fury
I am fucked up. I am a fuck up, too. The Jack burns on its way down, but it doesn’t replace the ache I feel inside of me. I knew the bitch for a matter of hours, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t already ache for her.
Kentlee Johnson.
That crazy fucking bitch wormed her way under my skin.
One look at her sweet innocent face, and I was fucking gone. One thrust inside of her tight cunt, and I was in another fucking, goddamned hemisphere.
When she came—her cunt squeezing my dick, her eyes so fucking bright, her face in awe—I was in another galaxy.
Then she had to act like a crazy bitch.
What kind of twenty-three year-old bitch ain’t on birth control?
I knew the answer—a good girl.
Kentlee is what I crave. A sweet innocent pussy to sink into night after night, and sh
e welcomed me without question.
I am being a prideful asshole.
Mama always told me that my pride would be my downfall. She was right. I want Kentlee like I want air, but I can’t bring myself to hunt her down and apologize – fuck that.
I never apologize. I’ve never needed to. I’ll chase her down soon enough, but I won’t apologize.
“Hey, baby, you need my mouth tonight?” Kitty asks, rubbing her hard, fake tits on my arm. She isn’t even wearing a top. I scrub my hand over my face. Fucking whore.
“On your knees,” I bark.
I watch as she happily sinks to her knees, in the middle of the bar. Kentlee would never do this, and I would never ask her to. No way in fuck would I want anyone to see her as anything other than mine.
Club whores are all the same. Ready and willing to spread any part of their body for a quick, fast fuck.
“Fuck, I love your cock. When are you going to put this beast to use?” she purrs, stroking my dick. I grab a fist full of her ratty assed hair.
“I don’t plan on ever fucking you, whore,” I spit at her as I nod down to my dick.
It isn’t going to suck itself.
“That’s cute,” I hear a sweet voice behind me, and I turn my head to see none other than the object of my obsession standing there, arms crossed over her chest, pushing those mouthwateringly soft tits up.
Kentlee Johnson.
I kick Kitty off of me and stuff my semi-hard cock into my jeans before standing up to face the gorgeous little bitch, herself. Her nose is scrunched as she looks down on the half-naked Kitty in disgust.
“What the hell?” Kitty screeches.
“Go somewhere…. else,” I bark at her. She quickly scrambles to her feet and runs off. “The fuck you want?” I turn my attention back to the smokin’ hot blonde in front of me.
She’s dressed in ripped up jeans and a baggy shirt. Kentlee isn’t even wearing anything sexy, yet my dick goes from half-mast to hard as a rock with one sweep of my eyes over her curvy body. I know what’s underneath all of that fabric, and my cock wants in there again.
Rough & Rowdy (Notorious Devils #1) Page 4
