by Marie James
What is going on? There is no way I’m upside down, staring at the backs of his legs. This happens in ignorant movies, not real life.
“You’re out there showing everyone your ass,” he hisses.
“I was sitting on my ass until you put it on display!”
I open my mouth to tell him to let me go, but then his big hand comes down in a slap on the exposed skin of my ass, and the only thing I can do is yelp.
Chapter 19
Flynn
I’ve memorized everything about this woman, including the roster of men who’ve been in her life. That douche Kyle has been pictured with her more than once, several snapshots taken by paparazzi where they were so close to one another, sliding a piece of tissue between them would’ve been impossible.
Seeing him touch her made me lose my damn mind, but as I carry her up the stairs toward her room, I have no idea what I’m going to do with her. Normally, I’m a planner, knowing what my next ten moves are going to be before moving my feet. Right now? All I want to do is give her luscious ass a punishing squeeze.
I have no damn business pulling her away from her friends, or a guy that shows interest in her, but here we are.
I don’t let her get far once I step into her room and place her back on her feet after kicking her door closed with my foot.
“Have you lost your damn mind!” she roars, her tiny fists making absolutely no real impact on my chest as she slams them against me.
“He touched you,” I hiss with just as much ire as she’s displaying.
“And?” Her arms cross over her chest and I have to look away, the swells pushing up almost indecently.
That’s a very good question, but telling her I hated the sight of it shows my hand, and I’ve barely kept control over myself since I stepped foot in this house. They must pump pheromones or something through the damn HVAC system because I’ve never walked around with a chronic erection before. The damn thing is always on alert these days.
“You don’t control my life!”
She shoves me again, but I stand my ground.
“You’re not my damn dad!”
Another shove, only this time I grab her arm and drag her against my chest, her harsh breaths dragging her nipples up and down.
Shaking her isn’t an option. The stubborn brat wouldn’t do anything but dig her feet in and fight me more.
“No, Remington. I’m not your dad.”
That’s a different kind of story, sweet girl.
“But maybe missing out on having a good one is the reason you’re such a pain in my ass.”
Speaking of pains in the ass, I hold her close as I cross the room, tossing her over my lap as she tries to get away.
With her head turned to the side, she watches me, her body calm and unmoving.
“What are you going to do?” She shoots daggers at me but doesn’t flinch or try to escape when I glare down at her.
“Spank your ass.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, pretty girl. Do I love a challenge.”
She swallows, her lean neck bobbing under my threat.
My rough hand skates down her delicate spine, goosebumps following its path.
“Did you like him touching you?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Did it turn you on the way his mouth was watering as he stared at your tits?”
I can’t fault the man. They’re phenomenal tits, but they aren’t his to look at.
Not yours either, dickhead.
“Jealous?”
Insanely.
“A little perturbed at the way you flash them to everyone. A little modesty goes a long way, Remi.”
“My body. My choice.”
An excellent point, but—
“And my hand is the one on you right now. Do you want me to stop?” I trace the edge of her bikini bottom, the fabric only an inch or so wide as it disappears between her ass cheeks.
Every girl by the pool has nearly her entire ass on display, their bathing suits covering less than well-placed lingerie. The BBS guys are in heaven just watching them walk around, much like the others, including assholes like Kyle, but the difference is, despite what my guys say to me, they wouldn’t cross that line while they’re working. They’re much better men than I am, I realize as my finger trails lower.
“Answer me?” I smack her ass again, cupping my hand so the sound is louder than the pain delivered.
“Flynn!” she yelps.
“Want me to stop?”
This stubborn girl turns her head, looking away, but doesn’t open her mouth to put an end to things. It’s not exactly permission.
“Answer me.” My voice is a low growl, my fingers still wandering, skating the line between her legs as I wait.
“D-don’t stop.”
Without hesitation, I smack her again. Not once in my life have I ever spanked a girl’s ass. Yeah, a couple of well-placed hits during the throes of passion have been known to happen, but bending a girl over my knee? Never.
She drives me insane. Has done so since my arrival. It’s retaliation if I do the same to her, take a little of her sanity the way she’s so easily done to me?
The next smack makes her moan, her legs spreading ever so slightly, the fabric of her barely there bottoms sliding between the pink lips of her bare pussy.
I’m in trouble. What started as a way to get a little of my own damn dignity back is going to end with me balls deep in her.
“No,” I snap, landing another hit to her right ass cheek.
Why does it have to have the perfect amount of jiggle to it? Why does she have to be so gorgeous, so seductive, so damn infuriating?
She wiggles on the next slap, and I’m the one to moan next.
“Remi.” I have no clue why I whisper her name, but I’m sure it has something to do with the darkening fabric between her thighs, her arousal dampening it.
Jesus, this woman.
“Flynn,” she whispers, a begging tone to her voice, and even though I need to stand her back on her feet and walk away, I’m unable.
With my thumb, I pull the material from her skin, the sight of her bare pussy mere inches away making saliva pool in my mouth.
“Remi?”
It feels like an eternity has passed since we stepped in here, time slowing to a crawl as I stare down at her. The scent of her arousal has my cock achingly hard under her, but I somehow manage to stay strong enough not to swivel my hips to rub it against her. I know she can feel it. At this point, I’m sure a satellite near the moon could see the damn thing.
“Please,” she responds to my question, and it’s all over but the begging for forgiveness.
I watch, as if having an out-of-body experience as two fingers slide down either side of her entrance. Her moans and the roll of her hips as she wiggles to find relief have the power to make me come in my pants.
I spread her, my tongue licking out at my lips in desperate need. Would tasting her be too much? What’s one more line? By the time I’m done with this girl, I doubt there will be one left uncrossed.
“Who do you keep this pussy bare for, Remi? How many fuckboys have seen these perfect holes?”
She moans at my vulgar words, freezing when I circle her back entrance with the tip of one finger.
“Don’t be shy now, beautiful.” I tease her a little more before moving lower. “Yesterday, you had all of this on display for me. This pretty thing pulsing against your fingers. Took all my strength to not join you and do this.”
Her back arches, tits pointing up as I slip the tip of one finger inside of her. It’s just a tease, a promise of what’s to come, but she bucks against me.
“Want more?”
Her head nods violently, her eagerness somehow ratcheting up my own desire like never before.
“Patience, Remi. Don’t you want it to last?”
Breaths rush past her lips to the point of panting, and I hate that her head is turned away from me.
�
�Look at me.”
Slowly, her head angles in my direction, and the pink in her cheeks has to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed.
She whimpers with need when I pull my finger out, skating it in a circle to her clit. Blinking up at me, I can feel the tremble starting in her body. She’s so fucking responsive, but this is only the beginning.
Despite half the team downstairs, I’m going to make this girl scream the walls down when she comes, first on my fingers, then on my neglected cock. Damn the consequences. This was always going to happen. Denying it, letting it fester any longer serves no purpose.
Moving my fingers back down to her slit, I press two inside of her a little further and freeze. She’s tight, so fucking tight it’s a cramped fit, but that’s not what stops me.
I stare down at this girl, the very same girl who first introduced herself with her tits on full display. The girl who uses her sexuality and perfect body as a weapon to lure guys into trouble they never see coming. The girl who just twenty-four hours ago spread her legs and made this pussy come right before my very eyes.
The girl with a fucking intact hymen at the tips of my fingers.
A virgin.
Remington “fucking with my head” Blair is a damned virgin.
“Flynn?”
She’s desperate, writhing, her hips circling in need.
My cock bangs against my zipper, pulsing against the weight of her on my lap, but answering his demands just got much more complicated.
It’s an impossibility.
Fucking virgins hasn’t been my thing since my freshman year in college, and I wouldn’t call it a thing. It’s not like I sought them out. It just tended to happen more often because of our ages.
Take out all the other problems sleeping with a girl whose parents hired BBS from the equation, and the truth still rings loudly.
Virgins are trouble.
Virgins get clingy.
Virgins deserve more than a rough fuck.
She’s a damn virgin.
Maybe saying it over and over in my head will give me the strength to stand from this bed and walk out of here.
“Please,” she whimpers, completely oblivious to the crisis I’m suffering through right now.
Giving her what she wants isn’t the problem. Being able to stop before taking it all the way is going to be the struggle.
Pulling back half an inch, I pull one finger all the way out and curl the remaining one to the front. I don’t know if she’s going to be able to get off on me stroking her G-spot alone, so I move my free hand to stroke her clit. You’d think I hit her with a live wire the way she jolts on a scream. Thank fuck this isn’t going to take long. I have to get the hell out of here before that voice in my head convinces me to strip naked and find out just how many things she hasn’t experienced so I can be her first at anything left over.
“Oh God,” she groans, but her pussy is pulsing around my finger, tiny muscles rippling down it before she gets the words out.
Her eyes are wide, beautiful, green blinking orbs as she stares up at me like she’s never seen me before in her life. She isn’t scared or timid. It’s amazement in her eyes, like she’s never been touched like this—like this is the first time a man has made her come.
I know I have to bolt when unbidden my tongue licks at my dry lips and she watches it like a cobra entranced by the movement of a flute.
Unspeaking, I pull her bikini bottom back to her center and move her off my lap, reaching for her when her legs threaten to give out from under her. I hold on to her hips to steady her, barely resisting the urge to place my head against the flat of her belly.
I want to cry sitting on this bed right now. Her body isn’t something I should’ve ever put my hands on in the first place, but as I stand and walk away, I feel like I’ve lost something I was never meant to have. Something that for those few blissful seconds before I slipped my fingers inside of her, I’d finally given myself permission to have.
“Flynn?” My name is a choked whisper, the pain clear, but I still walk away.
Music still blares from the indoor pool area, but no one is milling about. How I manage to make it down the stairs and into the staff bedroom I commandeered yesterday without running into a single soul is beyond me.
Refusing to pace like I did yesterday, I stand in the middle of the room and grip the back of my neck. I did the right thing. Well, I did half of the right thing.
Nope. All of it was wrong, starting with coming here in the first damn place. The second she walked out with tits on display, I should’ve turned right around and walked out of this fucking house.
The scent of her pussy is on my hands. The moans she made while I touched her in my head.
Knowing she sounds differently when she makes herself come than when I do it isn’t something I should know.
I strip, cock hard and unflagging. And in the shower, I break my own rules again, coming with her name on my lips.
Chapter 20
Remington
If slow blinking in confusion were an Olympic sport, I’d take the gold. I’m certain of it.
My body is thrumming from Flynn’s fingers, but my head refuses to catch up, unable to analyze what the hell just happened.
Not the orgasm. I was fully aware and present during that situation.
His departure has left me with my eyes glued to my closed bedroom door and my jaw hanging open. Did I mention the slow blinking?
I could run after him and demand an explanation, but my brain comes back online telling me I already know what is going on. He walked away from me tonight just like he walked away from me yesterday after I came.
He’s placating me. Watching and helping me orgasm to what end? To keep me docile and complacent? To make sure I’m too tired to get in my car and take off? To use as a weapon to get me to behave?
Pissed beyond anything I’ve ever felt before—and that’s saying a lot because my parents know exactly what buttons to push to make me seethe—I go into the bathroom and clean up, not needing the stickiness between my legs as a reminder. The erratic heartbeat I’m still dealing with is memory enough, thank you very much.
I’m not sad, and as much as I want to, I don’t feel used either. I begged him for what he gave, practically squirmed my way off his lap the second he touched me, my skin on fire with need. Truthfully, I wanted to be exactly where I ended up the second he lifted me from the lounger and carried me away over his shoulder.
What I’m livid about is the walking away, the rejection he continues to toss my way. It seems to be a habit of his, but isn’t it just as much my fault for putting myself in the position for it to happen again and again?
I’m such a damn fool.
But, and this is a huge but, he should stop letting things get so far if he knows he’s just going to up and walk out.
His cock was hard, a steel rod against my belly, unmistakably… big.
Do men get lost in their heads, listening to that voice instead of obeying what their body is demanding? I seriously thought that was a myth, a man who could control himself.
Maybe I was wrong. I’m always wrong so it wouldn’t come as a big surprise. I splash water on my face, but it does nothing to rid my cheeks of the pink there. I’m flushed, still overheated from the best experience of my life, but that’s not going to deter me.
I’m loud and obnoxious, not one to cower and hide away when I’m annoyed. I’m a lot like Sasha, undeterred by attention when I have something to say. I refuse to go to bed with a million unanswered questions in my head. If he doesn’t want me, then he can freaking tell me so to my face.
The sound of the party still going on startles me as I come down the stairs. How did I forget I had people over? Maybe because they aren’t real friends, and I was only using them as a shield against being alone with Flynn. I see how well that worked.
Flynn moved rooms yesterday, apparently so disgusted with the way I acted while touching myself that he couldn’t wait a mome
nt longer, getting as far away from me as he could.
Ignoring the visitors laughing and having a good time in the pool area, I cross the house toward the staff quarters. I came down here to force his hand with the understanding that he’s about to tell me to fuck off, but the closer I get, the more I hope he reaches for me instead. Every step I make increases my loneliness. Him touching me was amazing. His skill tending to my lady bits was pure perfection, but deep down, I know it was the time, the attention, how we were the only two people that existed in that moment.
“Ms. Blair.”
My feet freeze on the marble like a deer caught in a set of headlights.
“Mr. Torres.”
He grins like he’s surprised but pleased I remember his last name. I was raised to remember. Forgetting someone’s name is a travesty according to my mother.
“Your guests are having a good time.”
I smile, knowing it doesn’t reach my eyes, and I’m doing my best not to fidget or look in the direction of Flynn’s new room.
His grin spreads, making it evident I’m not fooling anyone. He knows why I’m down here and exactly where I was heading.
“Are you going to join them?”
My brow furrows.
“The people you invited tonight?”
“Umm, no. Actually, I was headed down here to ask Fly—I mean Mr. Coleman to ask them to leave.”
“How do you know he’s in his room?”
One eyebrow hitches as the corner of his handsome mouth twitches. He’s wearing a shirt now, but it doesn’t hide his muscular frame when he crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against the center island.
Because that’s where he always runs to when he rejects me.
“I… umm… is he out by the pool?”
I turn around, ready to run and come back later even though there’s a good chance I’ll lose the bravado I’ve managed to build since he walked away from me.
“No, he’s in his room, but I’ll get the help of the other guys to send everyone home.” He crosses the room, and just as I think I’m free, he turns back around to face me. “Still wanting to party at that club tomorrow night?”
No. “Of course, just have a headache right now is all.”
