by Jacie Lennon
I adjust myself and take my phone out of my pocket, flipping it around and swiping to open. I bring up the Contacts and hover my finger over Peyton’s name, desperately wanting to check in but I don’t. I scroll up a few and land on the name that will probably get me put in the doghouse once I set this plan into motion. I can’t sit back and do nothing though. I hit Call and bring the phone to my ear.
“Brock,” the familiar voice says after one ring—the normal amount of time it takes him to pick up.
It’s always surprised me. Even if I call at three in the morning, one ring, and then he answers.
“Derek. I have a job for you.”
He’s worked as a private investigator for our family for years, and I trust him implicitly. He helped me figure out what Linda was doing to Dad, and now, he’s going to help my girl get out of this mess by giving me leverage.
“I’m listening,” he says, and after a moment of second thoughts, I say, Fuck it.
“I need you to get a phone number for me, and I need anything you can find on Drake Portley; his dad, Bull; and the Loredo Lions.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Going after the Lions will cost you extra,” he says, no-nonsense, and I appreciate that about him.
I knew going into this that I was playing a dangerous game. But I hope to find out something that I can use.
“No problem. Get me Drake’s number, and I need anything else you find at your earliest convenience.”
“Consider it done.”
The line clicks dead, and I set my phone beside me. I know Derek will find something. He’s from Loredo himself, and he always comes through for me. I rest my head deeper into the pillow and drum my fingers on my stomach.
If Peyton and Bodhi aren’t back in the next hour, I will go after them. I set an alarm and close my eyes.
I can hear them coming down the hall before they even get close to the door. It makes my stomach clench to hear them laughing together. I’m a selfish guy by nature, and he shouldn’t be getting her laughter. I should.
The key sounds, and the doorknob turns before Peyton walks through with Bodhi following, carrying a duffel bag. She’s telling him something, causing him to snort and make a funny face back. I hate it.
Why can’t I have that freedom, that easy feeling to cut up? Why am I not the one making Peyton happy? Why didn’t I agree to take her to get her stuff today?
“Why are you in my room?” Peyton asks as soon as she sees me, lying on her bed with my arms clasped behind my head.
“Wanted to make sure you two made it back okay,” I say, fixing Bodhi with a glare, letting him know I will deal with him later. “Can I talk to you?” I let my eyes focus on Peyton, drifting down her body before coming back to her eyes.
“Okay, well, I’m gonna head out,” Bodhi says, setting Peyton’s duffel on the floor and leaving, but neither of us pays him any attention.
As soon as the door shuts behind him, I’m on my feet, prowling across the floor toward Peyton. She doesn’t move, only looks at me, her head cocked to the side and eyes searching my face. As soon as I’m standing in front of her, I reach up with one hand, softly pressing my thumbs and forefingers into her cheeks, making her already-voluptuous lips pucker even more. I glance up to see her eyes fastened on me, wide and unblinking, before jealousy of Bodhi getting to spend time with her has me acting on instinct. I want to show her that she’s mine, like some sort of Neanderthal who thinks I have a claim on her. I dip my head, tracing my tongue around the curve of her top lip before repeating the action on the bottom.
I hear her breath hitch, but she doesn’t move. Her arms hang at her sides, her head held steady by my grip as I pull back, staring at her glistening lips. Her tongue reaches out to trace the path I just made, and I watch, enthralled, as I think about her tongue doing other things to me.
“What was that about?” she whispers.
I retract my hands gripping her cheeks. I lean down, my face less than an inch from hers, our noses touching.
“Don’t defy me again,” I say, my breath blowing a few tendrils from around her face, and she bites down on her bottom lip.
It would be so easy for either one of us to close the distance, to press our mouths together, to touch each other’s skin, making each other burn, but we don’t. Neither of us makes the move forward. But Peyton moves back.
“What do you mean, defy you?” she asks, wrinkling her nose in confusion and maybe still in a little bit of a haze because I expected more confrontation, if not more language from her, in regard to my statement.
I watch as she shakes her head slightly and opens her eyes wider.
“Defy you? Like you are His damn Royal Highness and can scream, Off with her head, if I do? Fuck you.”
There it is.
I grin.
“Quit smiling. That’s not funny, Brock. I don’t exist to blindly follow your rules.” She crosses her arms under her tits, plumping them up in the uniform she’s still wearing, and I allow my gaze to caress them for a moment. “My eyes are up here, dickbag.”
“I know,” I say.
“Are you trying to irritate me?” she asks, and I finally look at her face.
“Isn’t that what you were trying to do?”
She stares at me for a beat, and I watch the emotions play out across her face. Incredulousness, confusion, rage.
“I only wanted to go back and get my things.”
“And I said, no,” I reiterate. “Therefore, you roping Bodhi into doing it was a ploy to put me in my place.”
“No, it was to get my clothes and money I had stashed.” She holds to her story, her arms still crossed, back straight and legs slightly apart—a warrior stance.
Let’s do battle then.
“You can’t stand not being in control,” I say, stepping toward her, brushing a hair from her forehead back behind her ear, and then letting my fingers wrap around the back of her neck. She doesn’t move. “You don’t want to be indebted to me, but you also can’t pass up an opportunity to needle me, to drive me even more insane.” I squeeze and knead the flesh at the base of her neck with one palm. “Do you know what I did while you were gone?”
I move to massage her shoulder with one hand while my second one comes up and brushes her cheek. “Do you?”
She shakes her head slightly, wide eyes on mine, and I can see the small flecks of green that line her irises in the deep brown. Eyes I could get lost in. Eyes I have gotten lost in.
“I want an answer.”
“No,” she whispers, and I let one side of my mouth tilt up in a smirk.
“You didn’t even wonder?”
“No,” she whispers again, but I know she’s lying. I know she thinks about me even though she tries not to.
“I drove to the clinic to drop that damn sample off, and then I came back and lay right there on your bed, thinking of all the ways I could punish you for your disobedience.”
Her eyes grow wider, and she tries to move, but I tighten my hold on her shoulder, moving my other hand away from her cheek and down to her back, pressing her against me.
“But then any punishment I could think of wasn’t a real punishment; it was a way to touch you. Feel your skin under my fingers, taste your lips, and sink inside you,” I whisper the last part, barely against her lips, so close that I can feel her as she blows a small breath out, trying to look unaffected. “Do you ever think about that night?”
“No,” she says, a little above a whisper this time. Trying to convince herself or me, I don’t know.
“I do. Frequently. Which is strange since it wasn’t something out of the ordinary for me. But you … you aren’t ordinary, and I saw it. You continued to invade my thoughts after that night. I would dream about you every so often, but that’s the funny thing about dreams. Sometimes, they come to life right before your eyes, and then what do you do? It’s so easy to think it’s what you want in that instance. But when I find myself still thinking about you while you are
here, I know. I lay right there in that bed and worried about you. Do you know the last time I’ve ever worried over a girl?”
She shakes her head this time.
“Me neither. So, your blatant disobedience to what I asked shows me something. It says you want me to worry about you. You want me to be consumed by you. You want me to fall to my knees and worship you.” At that, I kick her legs out a little more and press one hand to her chest, leaning her back against the door she’s standing in front of. I drop down, hitting the ground hard at the same time I flip her skirt up. “I do, I am, and I will.”
She finally gives in, her back melting against the door as I reach one hand up and grasp her lacy panties, ripping it from her body.
“I liked those,” she answers on a gasp.
I softly plant one hand against her stomach, feeling the slight curve that now graces her abdomen. I lean forward, nuzzling her, smelling her before I lose my mind. She smells exactly how I remember, if not sweeter.
I push her legs out wider, adjusting my shoulders so they hold her open, and lick up, flicking against her clit. Her hand lands on my head, fingers diving through my hair and gripping as she tenses up.
“Fuck. Me,” she says, breathing out, and I smile against her pussy.
23
Peyton
The slight grin he gives me makes his cheeks rub against my legs. A friction that excites me. My hormones have been in overdrive, and I can almost come from thinking about sex at the moment. Once, I woke up in the middle of the night, having an orgasm from a dream. Powerful stuff I’m dealing with, and before I know it, I clench my legs around his face, the immense pleasure ripping through my body as my back arches. I hold on to his head, keeping his face plastered to me, his tongue still moving.
As the euphoric feeling subsides, I come back down to earth and release my firm grip on his hair. He surges to his feet, licking his lips and pinning my body between his and the door. I’m completely covered by him, his touch, his scent, and it’s making my head swim. I can’t think clearly.
“That was quick,” he whispers against my neck, burying his head to lick from my shoulder to my ear and back down again.
I shiver, goose bumps breaking out across my skin as I lay my head over further, giving him more access to whatever he wants to touch.
“It’s been a while,” I say with a shrug, trying to appear unaffected, but I know he can tell exactly what he does to me.
“How long?” he asks gruffly, stilling and then drawing back to look at my face.
I refuse to answer, as it’s a little embarrassing. How do I tell him that night was unexpected, like gasoline being poured on my libido fire? How do I tell him that he was my best encounter yet without seeming attached to him?
“Since that night?” His eyes stay pinned to mine as he brings one hand up, right against my rib cage, his thumb caressing the underside of my swollen breast.
“Since that night,” I confirm, and he sucks in a breath.
“Why?”
The one-worded question makes me tremble because I have so many feelings that can’t be shared. I didn’t want to get attached. I didn’t want to make this into what it’s becoming, and it scares me. I haven’t exactly had steady influences in my life. Who’s to say that Brock would be one? What if I get the test back and it’s not his child? What if I let myself get attached to him and his world and then it’s torn from me, ripped out of my life?
I lurch forward and press my lips to his, halting the questioning look on his face as I push against his chest, urging him backward. I need room to breathe, but I also need to feel him all over me again. I draw back and suck in a ragged breath. Both of our chests are heaving as we stare at each other. For a second, I think he’s going to demand an answer, but then he bends down, scooping under my legs and cradling me before he lays me on the bed.
He reverently turns me over, unzipping my skirt before shifting it down my legs. He places me on my back and leans down, pressing a kiss to my stomach before reaching to pull his shirt over his head. We are quiet—too quiet—as we take in the moment. Each of us processing what’s happening and how this will affect us, going forward.
Before, our shared moment was just that. Something fleeting that we couldn’t grasp with our hands. Something to be enjoyed for a small amount of time.
And I want to say that’s what this is.
But the look in his eyes is mirrored in mine. We are getting in deep. We are going to pass the point of no return, where emotions get involved, and fuck if that isn’t scary.
He finally meets my eyes, and my chest hitches. I give him a subtle smile, setting off the ticking bomb inside of both of us. There’s a flurry of us shedding the rest of our clothes before I’m lying down, and he’s kneeling between my legs, his cock jutting out between us. I reach up, grabbing it, and give it a long stroke.
“Fuck, Peyton,” he hisses, his teeth clenched as his hips jerk.
I rise up onto my elbows and push his legs, urging him to shift to my side while I open my mouth and invite him in. He complies, moving and sinking into my mouth with a groan as I reach down and swipe one finger through my pussy, stopping on my clit, which is still sensitive from my first orgasm. I buck my hips at the friction, circling my index finger and keeping the same rhythm as his dick that is pumping in and out of my mouth. I love it. I try to twirl my tongue around him, but he’s going too fast.
He stills, twitching as he stares down at me.
“What?” I ask as soon as he pulls out of my mouth.
His fingers are still idly twirling around my clit as he rakes his gaze up and down my body.
“I want to commit this to memory,” he says, staring.
“Why?” My skin heats at his perusal, and warmth floods my belly.
I squirm at his touch, and he bites his bottom lip.
“You, lying in front of me, is the stuff of fantasies I didn’t even know I had.” He groans again. “Get on your hands and knees,” he says gruffly, and his hands are on my hips, helping me turn over. “Are you ready for me?” he asks as he fists my hair, softly wrenching my head back and to the side so I can see him out of my peripheral.
He’s holding a condom in his other hand—I’m not sure where it came from. I confirm as much as I can with his grip on my head and shut my eyes, loving the prickling on my scalp.
I hear the foil being unwrapped and then silence as I imagine his hands on his cock, rolling it on before a broad hand nudges my upper back, lowering me to the bed. For all his gruff words, his touch is gentle, and my chest warms.
Our first time together was rough and hard and sweaty. The way a one-night stand usually is. A revenge fuck for myself. And I’m not sure what Brock saw it as. But this one feels almost sweeter by comparison. I don’t know what has changed for Brock, but I know my feelings have. I know I’m letting myself get involved more than I should, and I’m not sure how I should navigate from here on out.
The room is silent, except for our harsh breathing. Harsher than it should be at this point, and maybe there’s a reason for that. Maybe there is more to this than either of us wants to let on.
His hand still rests in the middle of my back as his other one caresses my ass cheek, leaving behind a tingling trail of goose bumps in its wake. I give in to the shiver building inside me, wiggling a little under what I can only imagine is his scrutiny.
I feel it then—the head of him at my pussy, not pressing forward, but moving back and forth through the folds, my slickness making it easy. I moan, moving back a little and pushing against his cock.
Memories from before assault my senses, and I know how good this is going to be. He’s had a lot of practice, and I have, too, but I don’t care about any of that. Right now, it’s just me and him. And these unknown feelings between us. And maybe a little bit of my hormones causing me to rapidly near explosion from the head of his dick tapping against my clit.
“Easy,” he says, placing his palm on my back to stop me once I buck back
against him another time. “There’s no reason to rush the good stuff.”
He slides through me a second time, gliding past my clit, and I jerk. He reaches down, his hands on my ass as he spreads me, one finger gliding past the hole I’ve never used for this. I shiver as he hits it, and he stills.
“You want me to fuck you here?” he asks, and I shake my head. “No?”
I shake my head again, and I hear his chuckle. He continues to languidly run his finger down me further, dipping slightly inside my pussy before coming out, leaving me clenching nothing as he moves to circle my clit again.
“Damn, quit playing around,” I say on a shuddering breath, and he laughs.
“Impatient?”
“Yes,” I growl and then suck in as he rams into me. I jerk forward at the intrusion before his hands are grabbing my hips, yanking me back.
“Oh no, you don’t. You aren’t going anywhere,” he says before giving me another hard thrust.
I arch my back, and he reaches down, grabbing my throat, squeezing a little as he drags me toward him. My tits press up, and he brings his other hand around, pinching one nipple hard.
His teeth are at my neck, nipping and biting, spreading goose bumps down my body as he slows his thrusts. This time is different, more intimate than that first night. His hand around my neck ventures down, lightly touching my skin as he skates between my breasts and across my stomach before finally landing on my clit.
He pushes his other hand into my hair, wrapping it around his fist, and then he pulls my head back and to the side as he teases me down below. I’m liquid in his hold. I’m falling apart, and I whimper.
“More?” he asks, easing in and out at the same slow pace.
My body is coiled, ready to explode, if only he would give more to me.
