"Fur," Sofie pouts, shaking her head. "I don't wear fur."
I reach up and tug on an ear flap of her stupid hat.
"What's this then, sweetheart."
Sofie smiles, all coy and adorable and shit, per usual.
"Ethical synthetic."
"Good," I say, pulling her against me and tugging the coat around her shoulders. "So is this."
Her smile widens as the faux-fox trim of the hood settles gorgeously around her shoulders.
"You know me too well."
"Nah," I say, waving her words away like they're an accusation. I don't make a habit of getting to know the women I sleep with too well. Beyond what their bodies like and how I can use them for better pleasure, I don’t really care much.
But Sofie, I have to admit, is turning out to be different than that. This damn girl is more fascinating than every other woman I've ever slept with combined.
"This is just a bit of a VIP helipad, is all. Didn't want any would-be PETA activists getting any bright ideas when they see a pretty young thing like yourself draped with expensive furs."
I could have used one of the other helipads in NYC, I'll admit. But I didn't want to deal with the fucking tourists, the military or the NYPD. And if Sofie gets a little taste of the VIP lifestyle while we're at it…
It's not that I'm trying to impress her or anything. Don't get the wrong idea here. She's just a sweet girl, and from the sounds of things, she's had a rough life.
It's incredible to me that she can still be so happy and bubbly, and full of light after some of the shit she's been through. I won't pretend like it doesn't give me some joy to show her a thing or two about the world I inhabit for a little compare and contrast.
Up in the air, Sofie has almost a childlike glee in her. Like being in a helicopter is the most amazing thing that's ever happened to her.
Every time she tears her gaze away from the window, it's only to beam at me with the prettiest set of pearly whites I've ever seen in my life. Every time she talks into the headset, it's because she wants to point out the most recent thing she's decided is just, totally the coolest ever.
It's never even anything that impressive. A bird. A little red pickup truck. A tree.
But it's infectious. She's so full of sunshine, it pours right out of her.
No wonder she can get away with prancing around in booty shorts in the cold. She's harboring a small sun beneath her perfect skin. She can't help but keep warm. Today, I'm just the lucky bastard who gets to bask in her glow.
"Whoa," Sofie says, grabbing my hand tight as we finally land. "Lucas, where are we?"
"Family heirloom." I take her fingers in mine and squeeze tight as I pull her out of the helicopter and towards the veranda where we'll be taking lunch. "I hope you're hungry."
In response, Sofie's stomach growls. She giggles and pulls her hand away from mine, so she can cover her stomach up with it. It's the weirdest thing, but the second her fingers are away from mine, I miss her touch.
Lunch is simple, but decadent. White wine, mountain air, scallops, lobster. You know how it is.
"So that's how I ended up for auction," Sofie laughs, covering up her mouth with her napkin. "I know it's kind of silly, but Chloe can talk me into anything and I guess I really just wanted to do my part to raise money for the kids."
"Ah. So you weren't interested at all in finding out what you’re worth?" I tease.
It's a brisk day, but there's still something refreshing about the coolness of the white wine in my glass. Not quite so refreshing as the way Sofie's cheeks flush pink at the question, though.
"Maybe a little," she admits, trying to contain her grin.
"You did! Little slut." I reach beneath the table and slide my hand over Sofie's knee. It's impossible not to think about the way I made that knee weak just a while ago in my limo.
"You must have been riding on a high after, then. You're a record-setter, darlin'."
Sofie's blush only intensifies, but when she looks up at me, there's a fire in her eyes.
"With a dick like yours, you must be used setting records," she coos.
Damn. Now it's my cheeks that are threatening to turn pink. But if Sofie is willing to stroke my ego for a bit…
"Biggest you've ever had?"
"Easily," she confirms. "You, Eli and Oliver…You're quite the trio."
"They keep me grounded," I chuckle, leaning back in my chair. "Growing up wealthy, it's easy to start taking shit for granted. I was an arrogant little shit when I met them, you know. Thought the sun rose and set over my bank statements and my cock."
"Then they gave you a little stiff competition, huh?"
I narrow my eyes at her, grinning.
"I guess you could say that. But more importantly, they made sure that I started putting my big-ass inheritance to good use. Now, we use my capital and connections to help people where I used to only throw them around to help myself."
"That's…fascinating," Sofie says, leaning forward.
Now it's her hand on my knee. It's not a sexual touch in the least, but I find myself leaning into it. Wanting more.
"I could say the same about you," I level with her.
No point denying it now: Sofie Carson is wrapping me around her pretty little fingers like she was born to ruin this bad boy exterior I've spent my whole life cultivating.
The worst part? I think I'm actually fucking enjoying it.
Sofie
I suck the tip between my lips, pressing them hard around the shaft while I moisten it with my saliva.
Then, I take it between my teeth and bite down. Hard.
"Holy fuck, Sofie," Chloe says with a horrified laugh. "Remind me to never take blowjob advice from you."
"You're the one everyone calls Blowie Chloe." I slip the end of my ink pen out of my mouth and wink at her. "Shouldn't you be the one handing out advice?"
"Stop sucking your pen like it's a cock, for starters." she says, grabbing my surrogate phallus away from me and setting it down on the practice exam I'm supposed to be doing right now. "And less teeth. But honestly? You're the one who's sucked three cocks this week. You'll have my title in no time, Blowie Sofie."
I shake my head, taking a long sip of the pumpkin spice latte I splurged on. I don't treat myself to Starbucks often, but when I'm studying for killer exams, I make sure I find ways to treat myself.
"I've only sucked two this week," I correct her. "Oliver has yet to receive his…unfortunately."
Honestly, right now I wouldn't mind taking another crack at Oliver's foot-long cock and his fiery ginger curls. It would make for a great break in Bio Chem.
"Maybe you can suck Professor Gladstone off while you wait," Chloe suggests. "Soften him up for us."
"I don't know how you're giving blowjobs these days," I tease, "but usually when I go down, they only get harder."
Her lips fall open as her jaw drops. She throws a balled-up sheet of discarded notes at me, looking outraged but amused.
"Okay, I deserved that," I giggle, shielding myself with my hands as the paper ball flies right between them and hits me in the forehead. "I'll admit, it does seem like Gladstone needs to uh, get his rocks off, so to speak."
"And you are the ho who's taking unlimited cock right now," Chloe reminds me. "Chop chop, Sofie. Get to sucking."
She picks up my pen and pantomimes exactly how I might get us a better grade on this test, but I'm not sold.
"I'm the ho who's taking exactly three cocks right now," I remind her, which is as weird of a sentence to say as it probably is to read. A month ago, I was getting no cock at all! "Four is…too many."
"Then you'd probably hit these books a little harder, Sof."
She surrenders my pen back over to me and I give in to peer pressure.
I study.
Or, at least, I try to.
See, here's the problem: I can totally read the words on this page. I can read the questions. Probably, I even know the answers. But every time I put pen to p
aper, my mind comes up entirely blank.
Then that blank fills in with Lucas' gravelly, ever-so-Southern voice. Elijah's Superman chin and intense, sparkling eyes. Oliver's charming laugh and his big, broad shoulders.
I'm missing Oliver's shoulders so much right now that I can vividly imagine pushing the exam away and laying my head down on his chest instead, resting my head and drifting off to a comfortable—
"Sofie," Chloe says, startling me out of my daydream. "Your eyes are more glazed over than a box full of Krispy Kremes. And I know that you don't feel the same way about Bio Chem as you do about donuts."
"Ugh," I moan, throwing the pen down again. "It's just them, Chloe! Elijah and Lucas and Oliver. They're in my head and it makes it hard to think."
"Would it help if they were in your panties instead?"
I cringe a little.
"Honestly? I wasn't even sexy fantasizing just then."
"NO!" Chloe says, looking aghast.
"I know!" I whine. "Chloe, I'm catching feelings! Help!"
"Look." She grabs me by my shoulders and shakes me like she's trying to make nickels fall out of my pockets. "You've gotta study, babe, or else you're going to fail, and I won't have anyone to copy Latin notes off of anymore. Okay?"
"But Lucas and Oliver and Eli—”
"Will be working for you one of these days as long as you don't flunk out first," Chloe reassures me.
"Then, you can just keep all three of them beneath your desk like the good boy toys they've always longed to be. They'll take turns going down on you all day while you take conference calls and save the world. Sound good?"
I swallow. Hard.
"Sounds too good to be true," I admit.
"Yeah, well, if you don't pass Gladstone's murder-test, it will be," Chloe says with determined certainty. "Do it for your pussy, Sofie. She deserves it."
We both laugh at that and return to the practice exam.
Do it for my pussy? That's all the motivation I'll ever need.
But as soon as I touch pen to paper again, there's a knock at our door.
"Pizza?" I say hopefully.
"Nah. That won't be here until five." Chloe shoots me a saucy look. Just, not pizza saucy like I was hoping for. "I bet it's Oliver. Sloppy thirds!"
"I'm not sloppy," I pout, getting up and grabbing the door.
As soon as I open it, I wish I’d have just left it closed.
"Sofie," Greg says with smile so slick I could put it in a petri dish and turn it in for my slime mold project. "Such a pleasure to see you again."
"It's not mutual," I say, moving to slam the door on his face.
I think I've made it abundantly clear at this point that I don't like Greg. Chloe knows it. I can tell by the look on her face that she's just as pissed as I am to see him here.
It’s pretty clear to everyone that I don’t want to see Greg again. Oliver, Eli and Lucas know it. That's why they got his ass tossed out of the restaurant during our date the other night.
Even Greg knows it. Definitely. I’ve rubbed it sufficiently on his face. He knows it in three different languages. He has been completely briefed on the fact that I never want to see him again.
But instead of fucking off, he brought flowers. And instead of letting me slam the door in his face, he gets his foot in the door.
"Sofie. Don't be cruel," he implores.
Because let's get one thing straight right now: Greg never says anything to be simply saying something. Every word out of his slimy little mouth is another move at manipulating me.
"‘Cruel’ would be holding you down and making you eat those roses," I say flatly. "Instead, I think I'll just call the police."
I'm raising my cellphone to do just that when Greg snatches it out of my hand. When I reach to get it back, I dive face first into a mouthful of roses instead.
"That wouldn't be very kind, Sofie," he coos like I've somehow hurt his poor sociopath feelings. "I'm just here for what was promised to me."
"An ass-kicking so firm and well-deserved that you have to get one of those hemorrhoid pillows to sit down comfortable again?" Chloe shouts over my shoulder. Helpfully.
"No," Greg says. I can hear the annoyance in his voice. "Our date. I already paid for you, Sofie. Or don't you remember? It's going to be hard for all those poor little orphans to get my donation check to clear when you haven't delivered on your end of the bargain."
I feel my mouth fill with bile. All I want to do right now is roll it all up on my tongue and spit it right in Greg's nasty, hook-nosed face.
So I do. Without even thinking about it. It hits him right in his stupid nose and drips down onto his chin.
"You shouldn't have done that, you fucking whore," Greg sneers.
"Ah, yeah, well, she did," Chloe says, diving between us as an enraged Greg comes at me.
Chloe isn't just disarming with her words. She also makes a point of getting my phone out of Greg's villainous clutches and back into my hands where it belongs.
"In normal people language, that's generally a cue to leave."
"I didn't come here to leave empty-handed." Greg looks like he'd be happiest if he could have his hands squeezing our necks right now.
"Well, in that case," Chloe says, grabbing the roses from me and shoving them back in his face. "Ah! Look at that. Your hands are full now."
"I'm going to make you pay for this, Sofie," Greg snarls, diving for the door.
"Forget it, Greg," Chloe smirks. "It's only Chinatown!"
A look of total confusion passes over Greg's face. It doesn't make him look any more attractive.
"But this is Manhattan?" he says, bemused, as Chloe shuts the door in his face.
"I don't know what you ever saw in him." She shakes her head and leans up against the door as Greg's fists rain down on it. "It's like the kid's never seen a movie in his entire life."
"Too plebeian," I agree, resting up against the door next to her. "He might see something too humanizing and have a genuine feeling for once. Like, can you imagine?"
"Ah, well," Chloe laughs. "There's always British documentaries and torture porn."
"He's going to make some woman perfectly miserable someday," I giggle.
“I can hear you!” Greg shouts through the door.
The door shakes against us while he continues to wail on it, but he's not going to get it to budge in his favor at this rate.
When Chloe and I put our minds to something, there's not a lot you can do to stop us. If only we enjoyed studying for Bio Chem as much as we do insulting my shitty ex, huh?
But this isn’t all giggles and cheap digs at Greg, either. As I hear him storm off, I can’t help but feel like this isn’t the last I’m going to hear of this.
Greg’s footsteps fade away, but he leaves a bad taste in my mouth and an ache in my stomach as it fills with dread.
Oliver
There are rose petals on Sofie's doorstep.
I don't know why that bothers me, but it does.
It's no joke that I shouldn't have waited this long to check in on Sofie. I should have called, but that's not really my thing. Neither is texting. Or any manner of checking in at all.
Maybe I'm just spoiled rotten at this point, but normally, the women I fuck are the ones that get back to me. Not the other way around.
It's not like I've been sitting around staring at my phone for week, expecting Sofie to text: Oh, Oliver, I'm just devastated by the absence of your massive cock in my ass! Or, Please, Oliver, you've ruined me for other men!
Nah. I'm not that kind of guy.
But at the same time, had Sofie Carson sent me something like that…well, a man wouldn't complain.
The real problem here is that I've failed to account for the fact that it's not just my ginger ass chasing after this brilliant beauty. Elijah and Lucas are solidly in the running too, and they have no problem chasing down the women they want.
I just fucking hope that it's one of them who's left these rose petals on her welcome
mat. I prefer knowing the competition.
I raise my fist to the door and knock on it. Three times. Simple. Casual. Nice and firm.
It’s unbelievable what Sofie Carson's absence can make me do. Normally, I slip down to my lab before my dates wake up in the morning and stay down there until they're gone. No small talk. No mess.
Now, I've been reduced to the kind of man who shows up on a girl's doorstep with a bottle of wine, a hardcover novel and a few remaining shreds of hope.
For a long time, there's no answer. Which is an answer in itself, really. I'm making an ass out of myself for being here. Sofie is either not home, or she's so fucking busy banging whatever dude bought her roses that she doesn't have time to come to the door.
But hey. I'm not an optimist for nothing.
I give it one last go. Knock. Knock. Knock.
That's when I hear it: Sofie Carson's beautiful, angelic voice.
"Greg, you snide little son of a bitch, if you knock on my door one more fucking time I'm going to feed you your own goddamn chode!"
Well. It's not a hello, but it's not exactly a goodbye either.
"Sofie?" I call through the door, furrowing my brow. "It's Oliver. Open up. I brought provisions."
I hear the shuffle of tiny Sofie feet, and then lo and behold, the door opens.
Sofie frames herself in the doorway, looking a little unhinged—but nonetheless happy to see me.
I hold the wine and the book up like a peace flag just in time for Sofie to grab me by the collar and pull me down to her level for a passionate lip lock.
"Oliver," she laughs against my lips. "God, I thought maybe I'd scared you off or something."
"Just promise that you won't…how did you put it?"
"Feed you your own chode? Not likely," she giggles. "Your dick is too big and too long to fit into that level of penis classification system. Come in!"
"Sounds like Greg is dealing with some kind of Phallus minimus situation," I joke, letting Sofie tug me into her apartment by my necktie. Red looks gorgeous beneath her French-manicured fingertips—even if it does look like she's been biting her nails. "Has he been getting on your nerves again lately?"
The King's Virgin Bride Page 36
