by Piper Rayne
“Go ahead,” he says, grinding his hips toward me so that his dick might reach my lips—if it had another three inches.
I size him up again, trying to figure out how a guy over six feet, with huge muscles and a ripped stomach, could have such a disappointing package. He’s fully hard now, the tiny mushroom facing upward.
My hands are shaking slightly as I wrap them around him, my fingers overlapping, and I pump.
He groans. “That’s it. Mouth, you little bitch,” he says, shaking his hips again, and my hand unclenches before I squeeze so hard he falls to his knees.
Now, I’m all for dirty talk and the right guy can boss me around in the bedroom with zero complaints from me. But there’s a way to make it hot and there’s the douche way. Slade is being a douchebag.
“I don’t take directions well,” I comment, leaning back to wait for him to apologize.
“Oh, you want to play hard to get?” A knowing smile crosses his lips and I raise my eyebrows.
I think we’re on different pages.
“My pussy is spread-eagle on your couch. I don’t think this is exactly hard to get.”
He grabs my arm, urging me back up to the edge of the couch, and he places my hand on his pencil penis.
“I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.” He shimmies forward, and for the first time in years, I’m not horny with a dick in front of my face.
“Let me guess.” I stand up, making him stumble back. With his pants still around his ankles he can’t get his footing and ends up falling to the floor, but he sits there, not attempting to pull his pants up.
Grabbing my own pants and panties from the floor, I put them on while continuing to talk. “I’ll blow you and you’ll expect me to swallow, which I’m not opposed to, but then you’ll tell me you need some time to recover. Have you never heard of ladies first?” I button my pants, slipping on my flats, finally able to look around the space I’m standing in the middle of.
Doilies on the table.
Vases of flowers.
Little ceramic statues of kids.
Flower fabric couches with pink drapes.
“Oh. My. God. Where are we?” I ask and step to the door, placing my hand on the doorknob.
“My place,” he answers with a shrug.
“And who else’s?” I narrow my eyes.
His gaze casts down for a moment but then meets mine with a ring of fury around his pupils.
“You’re just a tease. Girls like you think you have so much control, but all you are is some whore guys use to get their rocks off.” He stands to his feet, pulling up his pants.
“If you’d treated me with any respect, I would have been a sure thing. As far as being a whore, I’m going to let that slide since your hard-on probably isn’t giving you enough testosterone. But let me be very clear.” I step closer to him, staring up so that he knows how serious I am. “You ever disrespect me again and I will wrap that pencil-thin penis of yours around a twenty-pound weight and let go.”
He laughs, a hollow and overly sarcastic one. “I’d rather have a small dick than be the pass-around girl.”
Before I can stop myself, I cock my arm back and punch him in the face. He holds his cheek and points to the door.
“Get the fuck out!” he yells and a door clicks from down the hall.
“Stevie?” an elderly lady says.
“Go back to bed, Gram.”
“Is everything okay?” She rounds the corner in a pink night coat and her hair in rollers. Her eyes widen at me and then she scowls at Stevie, aka Slade. “I told you no girls.” Her shaking finger points to him.
“I’m out,” I say, springing the door open and leaving the apartment before Granny gives both of us a beatdown. The door shuts behind me and I hear him apologizing and her yelling.
Crisis averted.
I hit the street and try to decipher where I am exactly, and notice that the night must still be young because couples are walking hand in hand down the street with takeout containers. Another group of people look like they’re just getting the night started as they file out of their apartments.
I take a few steps to the corner crossroads and read the street signs. Slade’s grandma lives way too close to me and I hope I never cross her in a dark alley.
After walking a few blocks I find my usual Starbucks and open the door, allowing the warm, comforting smell of coffee to surround me. I wish I had my sketchbook. Drawing has always been how I relieve stress. Maybe I can design a toy that could help men like Slade in the Nanometer Peter club.
I head to the restroom first to use the facilities and then wait in line. Most people ahead of me order iced teas and other drinks that aren’t hot or loaded with caffeine.
Missy, the usual barista, smiles up to me when I step up. “Bad night again?” she asks, one side of her lips cocking up.
So I may come here too often after a bad night. Which seems to be happening way too often lately.
“Needle dick,” I deadpan.
She cringes and a deep laugh rumbles from behind me. I glance over my shoulder, finding a man. I grant him a half smile and he winks, his lips only turning half wattage.
“Grande black,” I say.
“Name?” She arches her eyebrow, waiting to see what’s coming.
“Katniss Everdeen.”
She laughs, punching it in, and I hand her the cash. “I volunteer as tribute,” she says and we both share a laugh now. “It’ll be right up.”
“Thanks, Missy.”
I tuck the cash back into my purse and pull my phone out to distract myself, checking my Facebook notifications. Whitney and Tahlia have both been posting about their date nights. A twinge of jealousy flares and once again I’m reminded that one thing isn’t like the other when it comes to my group of friends.
I mean, they’ll forever be my friends, but once they get married and start having kids, we probably won’t have much in common. Pretty soon, I’ll just be the crazy aunt who shows up at birthday parties and all the kids wonder who I am. No, I promise myself. They’ll always know me and I’ll be the cool aunt who gives them expensive gifts because I can afford it. I’ll be the one they look up to because I travel all over the world, live life by my own rules and have affairs with exotic men.
The man behind me leans against the counter and I glance up to see that he’s on his phone. He’s smiling as he types away. His suit jacket hangs open and his tie is loosely undone, but his vest is still buttoned. Who still wears a full three-piece suit? I have to admit though, it looks hot as fuck on him. His hand rises and he weaves his fingers through his already dishevelled brown hair. The sparkling of cufflinks catches my eye and I wonder what kind of job he has that he’s this dressed up. Aren’t most companies going to business casual nowadays?
I picture him behind a boardroom table barking out orders and the mental image of him having a very powerful job ignites a tingling between my legs. I bet this guy is packing and would know how to dominate me in the bedroom.
“Katniss Everdeen.” Missy’s singsong voice rings out.
Before I turn my attention to her and my coffee, the guy looks up and our eyes meet. A smile plays on his lips and I’m not sure if it’s from the texts he’s receiving or if it’s for me, but no matter what, it lights up his face, raising him up the attractive meter until the bell rings on top.
The tingling turns into an ache down south.
I snap my eyes away from him and grab my coffee. “Have a great night, Missy.”
“See you tomorrow,” she says and I nod because I’m here at least once if not twice a day.
Moving over to the counter to pour in my Splenda and milk, I try not to feel the small hairs on the back of neck snap to attention. Nor do I admit that I feel his eyes on me. Instead, I busy myself pouring and stirring. If he wants me, he can make the first move.
“Peeta Mellark.” Missy’s voice rings out again and then she chokes out a laugh.
I whip my head around and find a set of
hazel eyes set on me with arched eyebrows. The amused smile on his lips is even more prominent than seconds earlier. My gaze whips over to Missy and she’s smiling from ear to ear, pointing to his back. She wraps her arms around herself and kisses the air. I roll my eyes and when the guy turns around to see where I’m looking, she quickly straightens her back and pretends she’s organizing the straw compartment.
“Have a good night.” She uses her sweet-as-pie voice and the man nods, stepping toward me.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I have no time to try to figure out why I’m suddenly nervous. No matter how hard I try to relax, I can’t control my heartbeat. Only five steps separate us so I don’t have time to think about why this guy is bringing out a side to me that rarely, if ever, makes an appearance.
I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he slides next to me at the condiment stand and a waft of his cologne breezes past me. The scent is intoxicating. It’s musky and all man. I cross my ankles, pressing my thighs together.
He busies himself with the sugar, no milk, and he stirs it for an unusually long time. His phone chirps as he’s placing the lid on top of his coffee.
I’m about to stop him, but something holds me back and I cower down, fascinated by his hands. Strong and manicured. Never would I have thought manicured nails would turn me on.
All movement stops and I look up to find his eyes on me. He slowly appraises me from top to bottom and back before he leans in, his lips only an inch away from my ear. Our bodies aren’t touching and somehow that’s hotter than if he’d pulled me into him.
“I thought you’d want to know…”
He trails off and the scent of his cologne has my eyes drifting closed while I wait with anticipation to hear the end of his sentence.
“… you have toilet paper stuck on your shoe.”
He pulls away and my eyes snap wide open. He winks and before I can say anything, the door chime rings and he’s eyeing me through the window as he talks on the phone and I frantically try to remove the toilet paper with my other shoe.
God, no wonder he was staring at me.
“Holy shit,” Missy says, her hand over her heart.
I grip the counter behind me to stay upright—half from embarrassment and half because my knees are still weak. “Who was that?”
“I think he’s your Peeta Mellark,” she says with a dreamy edge to her voice as she leans over the counter.
I shake my head. “Oh, Missy. Lennon Hart doesn’t get to have a Peeta Mellark. She just gets to screw around with a lot of Gale Hawthornes.”
One thing I can’t deny, he turned me into a fumbling mess and he only uttered a handful of words. Now there’s a man who can boss me around in bed.
3
I walk through the doors to Venture Bank and wait for the receptionist to stop typing and actually look at me. Eventually, she takes the pen out of her mouth, her fingers stop moving and she fixates on me. Her gaze roams me up and down.
Yeah, I know I’m hot, but I’m over my lesbian phase so she can look but she can’t touch.
“How can I help you?” She uses her pen to scratch her scalp under her pile of auburn hair.
“I’m here to see Jacob Hart.”
She eyes my t-shirt with disdain and I roll my eyes. She’s probably some stuck-up, snobby woman who’s never been fucked properly in her life.
“And you are?” She picks up her phone, her fingers poised to dial Jacob.
“Lennon Hart,” I say and her back straightens, a smile replacing the scowl. “His sister.”
“Oh, let me ring him.”
“Thank you.”
I take a seat in the small waiting area with four chairs and an array of magazines. I’ve never been to my brother’s office before, but it’s a nice place. He’s vice-president and about as opposite of me as you can get. Everyone’s always thought twins must be alike, but Jacob and I couldn’t be on farther ends of the spectrum.
Just as I expect, he comes out himself to greet me.
“Thank you, Mrs. Mendez,” he says with a smile and then sets his eyes on me. “Lennon.” He nods his head, turns on his heels and walks back to his office.
“Thank you, Mrs. Mendez,” I say sweetly and she gives me the polite smile, placing the pen back in her mouth and typing away.
Jacob waves and speaks pleasantries as we weave our way through the desks until he reaches his office. He opens his door and waits for me to go in first.
“No hug?” I ask, plopping down on a chair in front of his desk.
He shuts the door and rounds his desk to sit in his enormous chair. Overcompensating much?
“Is the big chair to make up for other inadequacies?” I ask and his eyes bore into mine with no reflection of the humour I was going for.
Debbie Downer.
“I’ve told you never to come to my office.” He clasps both his hands together in front of him.
“Oh, come on, bro, you know you love me.” I cross my legs and shrug my shoulders as if telling him, This is me and you need to accept it.
“I do love you, Len.” He looks out his glass window. “But this is my place of business and I worked my ass off to get where I am. The people here don’t really understand people like you.”
“People like me?” I’m starting to be offended between my brother and that jackass Slade.
“Look at you.” His hand floats down my body. “Your skin is a damn art show. Your jeans are ripped. Your toes have skulls painted on them. And the shirt. What the hell is that? A rooster with a unicorn horn.” He shakes his head with the same look he used to have when our mom forced him eat oatmeal.
“First of all, my tattoos are an expression of my personality. Ripped jeans are in, Mr. Brooks Brothers. As for my shirt, it’s a unicorn cock. You wouldn’t understand, you’re a guy.” I uncross my legs and bring them up to the seat so I’m cross-legged.
“Unicorn cock? Is that the name of one of your new sex toys?”
Actually, that’s not a bad idea.
Jacob’s phone rings and he picks it up. “Please hold all calls, Mrs. Mendez.” He listens for a second. “Tell Jasper I’ll call him in five minutes. Thank you.” He hangs up.
“Jasper Banks?” I ask with an innocent bat of my eyes.
“No,” he deadpans and I can’t help but be hurt that my brother is trying to lie to me. Isn’t that some sort of twin no-no?
“Mom taught us not to lie, Jacob,” I remind him and he rolls his eyes. Jasper isn’t a common name like Mike, so I know it’s got to be the guy who mentored my brother out of college.
“Len, you are not getting Jasper Banks’ phone number,” he says with annoyance. Jacob let it slip once that Jasper had moved on from conventional loans and he’s a partner at a venture capital firm now. I may have bothered him for an introduction a few times. The difference this time is that I’m sober and not rambling on about how my family doesn’t understand my vision.
“Then why don’t you invest in my business?” I ask him, for the millionth time. There was one week I messaged him ten times a day. Needless to say, he blocked my number after five days. Then I told my mom and the next day she made him unblock me in case I had an emergency and couldn’t reach him. I know how to work my family.
“I’ve told you before, I can’t have my name associated with something like that. It’s a bunch of dildos and vibrators. Use your head.” He taps his temple to drive the point home.
“Now you’re getting mean.” I act upset, although I’m used to Jacob—this is him. He’s strait-laced and above board while I’m crazy town soaked in a vat of gasoline.
His shoulders sag, the need to never see me upset setting in. It’s been that way since we were eight and he pushed me off a swing and I broke my arm. He’ll forever feel guilt for that. Not that I don’t use that guilt to my advantage every now and then, like right now.
“Listen, I know you want to start this company, but I don’t understand. The tattoo shop do
es great. And if you remember, I gave you the first loan for that place.”
My feet drop to the floor and he stands, making his way around his desk and sitting down next to me. “Len, I believe in you, but you have to understand I can’t exactly approve your loan here when I was just promoted to VP. How would that look? Give me some time and I’ll see if I can figure something out.”
I look up to technically my younger brother by six minutes, who constantly acts like my older brother. “Why won’t you just give me Jasper’s number? He might be interested.”
He shakes his head and releases a sigh.
A knock on the door interrupts us.
“Come in,” my brother says and in walks a woman close to my age. Her wrap dress is flowery and flows nicely over her petite frame. I notice that she has a matching pair of flats on. I also notice that she’s looking at my brother in a way that isn’t entirely professional. She’s cute and I decide right there that I like her.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, her gaze tipping down when she spots me. “I didn’t know you were with someone.” Her eyes meet mine and she’s appraising me, but I see no judgment there. I snap my head in the direction of Jacob, whose gaze hasn’t left her since she opened the door.
“It’s okay, Megan, this is Lennon, my sister.”
The despair in her eyes fades and she walks over to me with a bounce in her step, her hand in front of my face within seconds.
“I’m Megan Channing,” she says.
I shake her hand. “Lennon.”
“It’s so great to meet you. Jacob doesn’t say much about his family, but you guys have the same nose.” She looks from me to Jacob and back.
I take a quick glance at Jacob’s desk and spot his cell phone sitting there and an idea begins to form. I lean back in my chair. “What do you do here, Megan?” I ask, knowing just how to get under Jacob’s skin.
“I’m a teller.”
“A teller? So Jacob is your boss?” I ask and her lips dip. For a second, I feel bad for putting her in the middle of my sibling fuckery.
“Yeah.” She nods, appearing a little unsure.
I look at Jacob and raise my eyebrows. “Interesting,” I say and he huffs.
