Uptown Girl: A Short Story (Sexy Jerk World Book 4)

by Kim Karr

  I had news for myself. I was going to do that now. I let my hands roam over my body and slipped one between my legs, teasing my clit. The other one twisted a nipple until I let out a long, slow sigh.

  I would come now, and it would make me stop thinking about him. My fingers dipped deep inside for a moment and I told myself this orgasm would be necessary because without it I’d be calling him and begging him to let me ride that thick, perfect cock of his, or his mouth, or even his hand.

  Everything became him. “Oh, fuck, I want him. I want him. I want him,” I cried out and then with the tiniest tweak of my clit, I exploded and my orgasm ripped through me.

  Once I’d caught my breath, I sat up and grabbed my phone to look at the calendar. If the verdict came in on Monday, we could see each other Monday night. I clicked on the date to make sure I didn’t have any plans because if I did, I would have to cancel them.

  Instead, I found myself staring at that date.

  Oh shit.

  Chapter 4

  Appealed

  Ethan Miller

  It was my twenty-fifth birthday, and I was more than ready to get both shitfaced and laid.

  The guys knew what I wanted, and I was confidant they were planning the perfect night. I’d left it up to them, and I was waiting for a text telling me where and when to meet them.

  With some very rare idol time on my hands, I decided to start the party a little early. It was a Saturday night after all, well almost, and I did have several bottles of premium brandy left to me by my grandfather just waiting to be drunk.

  I wanted to get drunk and fucked, and not just because I felt the need to celebrate turning one year older, but rather because I wanted to forget about her.

  It was only four in the afternoon, but I poured three fingers of brandy in the glass beside the bottle and downed it. Then I poured another three fingers. It was wasteful of me to drink the rare beverage in this manner, but I needed it. Before I knew it, a third of the bottle was gone.

  Shit.

  All it did was make me think about her more.

  Then again, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her for so many reasons.

  First of all, I’d lost the biggest case of my short career to her. Secondly, I hadn’t had sex with anyone but my own fist for the last three months—not since that one hot night with her. And finally, and the coupe the grâce, I’d tried to call her at least a dozen times since the trial ended two months ago, but she had yet to return any of my calls.

  So fuck her.

  Fuck her tight little ass.

  Fuck her sweet pussy.

  And fuck her hot mouth.

  Yeah, fuck her, and fuck her good.

  The word fuck was echoing in my head when my phone beeped with a text. I thought it was the guys telling me where to hook up with them, but a quick glance told me it wasn’t. It was her. It was Fiona. Fiona Hargrave. Instantly, my heart started to beat faster, and I blamed it on the alcohol.

  I wanted to delete the message without reading it and I wanted to speed-read it at the same time.

  I did neither.

  Instead, I thumbed it open and slowly read each word, and when I was done, I read it again. There were five simples words to her message, “Can you meet me, now?”

  I typed out, “No.”

  I erased it.

  I found the picture of a middle finger and selected it, but then I backspaced and got rid of it.

  In the end, I answered with a simple, “Where?”

  When she gave me the address of her apartment, I had to say, I was surprised, and maybe a little too excited by the slight twitch of my cock.

  Not even forty-five minutes had passed when an Uber dropped me off at her place. In the jeans and t-shirt I had been wearing when she texted me, I knocked on her door. Feeling more than a little buzzed from the brandy, I thought about greeting her with a fuck you, but then the door opened, and I felt like the air was sucked out of the room—I couldn’t breathe.

  She was so beautiful.

  Wearing yoga pants and a thin t-shirt that I could see through if I looked hard enough, I had to blink a couple of times. The sight made me want to rub my thumbs over her nipples. Her blonde hair was down and I had the craziest urge to run my fingers through it. And her lips. Her lips were so full and red, and all I wanted to do was kiss them, so I did.

  Fiona, surprisingly enough, allowed me to latch on, that was until she tasted the brandy on my tongue, and then she pushed me back. “Are you drunk?”

  I shook my head. “Buzzed, but it’s my birthday, so don’t give me shit about it.”

  She looked taken aback. “I had no idea, Happy Birthday.”

  I grinned at her. “Want to celebrate by blowing me?”

  “Ethan, be serious. I need to talk to you.”

  “I am being serious. I can’t forget that night. I want to do it again, and again, and again.”

  Taking my hand, she led me through her apartment and into her kitchen, where she started a pot of coffee. While it was brewing, she talked about her life, her job, her friends.

  It was strange, her letting me in in a way she hadn’t that night. I wanted to sober up, and fast, so I could talk to her smartly, reasonably, normally. I realized then that I not only wanted to fuck her, I wanted to get to know her.

  It was after six by the time she asked me to go in the living room with her, and by then I was completely sober.

  Just as we sat on the sofa, my phone beeped with a text. I knew it was the guys, but I ignored it. “What did you want to talk to me about?” I asked.

  She positioned herself to face me and then pulled her legs up on the sofa to sit cross-legged. “I’m not sure how to tell you this.”

  I placed one ankle over my knee and braced myself. She had a boyfriend. She never wanted to see me again. She wished she’d never fucked me. The list was never ending, and I knew by the time I left here, I would be more than ready for what the guys had planned. “How about you just say it,” I suggested, a little harshly.

  That, of all things, made her smile. And fuck if that smile didn’t turn me inside out. “You can be a real cocky bastard, can’t you, Ethan.”

  It wasn’t a question, and it didn’t require an answer, but I gave her one. “And you can be quite a cold-hearted bitch, can’t you, Fiona.”

  Right then a few tears started to leak from her eyes.

  Boy, talk about being brought to heel. What the hell was going on? “I’m sorry, Fiona, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just, I’ve been calling you, asking you out, leaving you messages, and you haven’t called me back.”

  She pressed her fingertips to her cheeks to wipe away the tears and then she shook her head. “I know, and I wanted to call you back, but first I had to come to terms with my situation, and then figure out how to tell you about it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m pregnant, Ethan, and the baby is yours.”

  The room went dark, my body went numb, and my mind blank. For a moment I wondered if I had fainted. Had a seizure. Fucking died. The condom. The old condom that wasn’t expired, didn’t work.

  “You don’t have to be involved in the baby’s life if you don’t want to, but I thought you should at least know.”

  Her voice.

  That voice.

  Those words.

  They brought me back from whatever place I had momentarily gone. Blinking through the haze, I opened my mouth to speak. Closed it. Opened it again. “You’re having my baby?”

  Her laugh wasn’t really a laugh. “Yes, I’m three months pregnant, and I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you, but it was a shock.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yeah, a shock. I’d say so.”

  “Did you hear me though, Ethan? You can walk away right now if you don’t want to be a part of this, and I won’t judge you. I know this wasn’t anything you had planned in your life, not right now, anyway.”

  All of my senses started to fire and I
found myself glancing down at her belly, noticing a slight protrusion I hadn’t noticed before. My baby. My baby was in that perfect body of hers. “Yeah, this is a shock, but Fiona, I am not walking away. I would never do that.”

  “Well, I have my first doctor’s appointment a week from Monday if you want to come.”

  My eyes were still on her belly. “Yeah, yeah, I do. Can I touch him or her?”

  She glanced down and then she reached for my hand. “Yes, sure.”

  With my hand on her belly, we stared at each other. The rise and fall of her chest just as exaggerated as mine. “Fiona,” I said.”

  “Yes, Ethan,” she answered softly.

  “Will you spend my birthday with me? Let me take you out to dinner?”

  Her smile, that smile again, it was small, but it was there. “Are you sure you want to spend your birthday with me? You probably have some big plans with your friends, and with how early I have been falling asleep lately, it’s not guaranteed you’ll get lucky.”

  Yeah, I was sure.

  In fact, I was sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life her.

  And I knew I would.

  Chapter 5

  Benched

  Fiona Miller

  Wearing a bra that looked like my grandmother’s and underwear that were way too small, I stared at myself in the mirror, more specifically at my giant belly and the shiny diamond ring.

  What had I done?

  Who was I?

  A wife?

  A soon to be mother?

  A homemaker?

  The last one made me want to scratch his eyes out. How had he convinced me to take a year off after I had the baby? The same way he had convinced me to marry him and buy a house in Lincoln Park, that’s how.

  He said it was his magic cock.

  I said it was blasphemy.

  “Babe, should I wear the purple or the green tie on Monday?” Ethan asked as he came into the room with both ties around his neck.

  I wheeled around, ready to blast him, but then smiled when I saw his face. “The green. It shows money matters to you, and every partner needs to prove he is concerned about the financial welfare of the firm.”

  Freshly showered and wearing only his tidy whities and the ties, he strode toward me, and planted his hands firmly on my hips. Pulling me close, he stared down at me. I expected him to kiss me and then swat my ass, telling me I better hurry because he wants to pick out the nursery color and get the room painted. The baby is a boy, so of course the room will be blue, but who knew there were over a million different shades.

  That was not what he did.

  Instead, Ethan went to his knees.

  Everything inside me started to shake at this, his worship of me, his face pressed to my belly, him, all of him. My hands went automatically to the top of his head, fingers threading through his soft hair.

  I could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my panties, and I couldn’t breathe. He pulled them down, sliding his hands down the backs of my thighs when he did. At the press of his mouth between my legs, I muttered a cry.

  He laughed and nuzzled me. My fingers tightened in his hair until he looked up at me. His eyes blazing. His mouth wet.

  I found my voice. “You want this pussy on your tongue?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  I pulled his hair a little tighter. There were times during sex I pretended to be the subservient one, there were times we battled for control, and then there were times like now, when he let me take the lead. But no matter what, there had been a lot of times. Turned out we were very compatible in bed, and out.

  I pulled on his hair again when he said nothing.

  “Please,” he finally added with that leave-it-to-beaver grin.

  My grip tightened a bit more. “Please…what?”

  His eyes went half-lidded, heavy with desire. “Please may I lick your pussy?”

  “Is that all you want to do?”

  He shook his head. “No, I want to make you come, and then I want to put my cock inside you and make you come again.”

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “Asking, of course,” he smirked. “Mother may I?”

  I sighed in contentment. “Yes, you may.”

  And as his tongue licked down my clit and dove into my pussy, I knew everything between us might not be perfect, but it was going to be pretty close because even though we grew up entirely differently, somehow we were made for each other.

  This was lust.

  This was desire.

  This was arousal.

  And this was love.

  After all, he was my boy-next-door and I was his uptown girl.

  Want more of Ethan and Fiona?

  You can catch them as secondary characters in SEXY JERK.

  The quaint tree-lined street of Hudson Avenue is where Fiona and Ethan’s very old East Lincoln Park home is located. Originally built in 1886, the narrow brick building with three floors has a charm that I just love.

  Easing down the street, I take a left about ten homes from theirs to circle around to the alleyway where their driveway is positioned.

  Spotting the black Range Rover parked there puts me on edge. The chrome wheels and tinted windows immediately give it away. It belongs to Nick Carrington, one of the biggest real estate developers in Chicago. Nick also happens to be Ethan’s former college roommate and best friend. Oh, and did I mention, he’s Max’s Godfather.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  Last I heard he was in Miami for an extended amount of time working on a really big real estate deal. Then again it isn’t like I keep tabs on him. He and I don’t exactly get along.

  Yes, we’ve been forced together in the same social settings at least a couple dozen times since Fiona and Ethan met. But to be honest, I’ve never really given him a second thought—other than to say he’s kind of a jerk.

  Out loud.

  So he could hear.

  Many times.

  Sure, he’s tall, dark, and handsome. And yes, he has the best ass I’ve ever seen, and I mean ever seen quite literally. You see he mooned me at Fiona and Ethan’s Fourth of July barbecue last year, which pretty much defines his personality.

  He always has to be the life of the party.

  He’s also arrogant.

  Rich.

  And a playboy.

  Every time I see him, he has a different woman on his arm. I can say this about him—he doesn’t discriminate. Tall, short, blonde, brunette, they’ve all gotten their turn with Chicago’s most eligible bachelor. From what I’ve heard, he just never keeps any of them around long enough to give them a chance.

  Plain and simple, he’s a manwhore.

  And I’ve had my fill with manwhores. So seeing his vehicle in the driveway isn’t making me extremely pleased right now.

  Again I ask myself, “Why is he here?”

  Unless.

  No, please no, don’t tell me something happened to Fiona.

  Hitting the gas, I floor it into the driveway as fast as I can. Once I put the SUV in park, I hurry to get Max out of his car seat.

  Rushing inside with Max on my hip and his gear on my shoulder, I take the stairs up to the main floor two at a time, and come to a screeching halt.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  Holy shit!

  Coming down the stairs is all six-foot-two inches, and I mean all six-foot and two inches of Nick Carrington in his glory.

  Wet.

  No towel.

  Completely naked.

  He looks at me, only a little surprised, and mumbles, “Shit,” or something like that. I’m not really listening right now. There is so much white noise in my head that I don’t think my ears are working properly. Or my hat is on too tight.

  Wait.

  Ignore that two inches part because he is, well, to be blunt…huge.

  “Uncle Nick,” Max screams in delight, jolting me out of the trance I had fallen into.


  “Nick!” I scream in outrage, while at the same time relieved that nothing must be wrong with Fiona or Ethan.

  He covers himself with his hands and shrugs.

  “Nick! What the hell!” I yell.

  “Uncle Nick!” Max exclaims again with glee.

  My head jerks in Max’s direction. Instead of following suit and covering his eyes like me to shade his vision from the sight of Nick’s smooth, tanned, muscular chest, tight six-pack, and well, his huge endowment, the almost three-year-old reaches out for him.

  Traitor.

  There is more Fiona and Ethan in Big Shot.

  HAVE YOU MET JACE BENNETT IN BIG SHOT?

  This emotional story will tug at your heartstrings.

  The For Sale Sold sign told the story.

  I didn’t know or care what that story was.

  On the front porch there was a number of kid’s toys. A bicycle, a Nerf football, and a pair of roller skates that looked well used. Jonah’s I assumed. The kid suddenly became real, and I considered driving right past the house.

  He was only a kid.

  Yeah, a kid that made my daughter cry.

  I didn’t leave.

  Instead, I parked my BMW on the street and opened the car door. With each step I took toward the newly painted porch stairs, I inhaled a deep breath. I could do this reasonably and respectfully. I wouldn’t accuse, I’d simply inform. The parent could then address the issue with the child.

  That sounded like the most mature approach. I felt a little proud of myself that I had calmed down and wasn’t gunning for the jugular.

  The bottom line was, I’d want to know if my daughter had made someone cry on his or her first day of school.

  When I reached the front door, it was open, and the only barrier was the flimsy screen door that if I had to guess, wasn’t locked. I could hear the Clash playing from inside, and I had to force myself not to smile. Another punk rock enthusiast. Interesting. I didn’t come across them very often.

  Standing there, I glanced inside. There were boxes everywhere. Moving in or out, I hadn’t a clue. Didn’t really care.