Closer: A Blind Date Bad Boy Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  “Janie, this connection you’ve been feeling, I’ve been feeling too. You know I have.” I pause a moment, searching for the words. “Ever since we met, being with you has been terrifying.”

  “I get it,” she says in an unhappy voice. “But then why have you been seeing Amy too?”

  “Wait for it, honey. I’m able to talk to you the way I can’t with anyone else. I’m able to open up and be myself. And that’s - that’s what’s been so difficult for me. There’s no hiding from myself when I’m with you.”

  “But why would you want to, though?” she asks me innocently, not understanding. I grimace in frustration. Everything in my being is fighting what I’m doing. For all the talking we’ve been doing over the last six months, this is something I haven’t even gone near.

  “Because that’s all I know how to do,” I say in a slow voice. “The Army drills that in you. It’s necessary for survival. But now that I’m back, I - I don’t know how to be normal again.”

  She watches my face and I can see understanding growing in her eyes. It encourages me.

  “But that’s not all. There’s stuff that - that - happened in the last four years, that …,” I stammer. This is difficult for me and Janie knows it. She squeezes my hand with encouragement. “Stuff that is difficult for me think about, talk about. And - and - when we’re together, I feel like you open the door to a brand new world. You know? Like you see into me. And I don’t like it. I want that door to stay closed. It’s safer that way.”

  “But what has this got to do with Amy?” she whispers in a heartbroken voice. And I tell her everything. I tell her how Amy is nothing to me, makes me feel nothing, makes me feel numb, and how that makes me feel safe from myself. I tell her about the PTSD and how I’m talking to Cole regularly in order to avoid going to therapy. I tell her that Cole suggested exclusivity, but that I’m too scared about which other doors that will open inside me.

  “You don’t have to be scared, Brent,” she whispers, looking earnestly into my eyes. “If you’ll let me, I can be here for you. You can open up to me like you’re doing now. We can get you through the PTSD together.”

  “Opening up to you means opening the door all the way. You may not like what comes through it. It won’t be pretty, I can guarantee that.”

  “Whatever comes through that door, we can battle together,” she says in a half-whisper, her gaze so gentle and caring.

  For a few moments I say nothing, only looking into her caramel eyes and feeling myself coming to peace completely. And I know she’s right. I don’t need to see other girls anymore, not Amy, not anyone else.

  “I want us to be exclusive, Brent. No more sneaking around. Out in the open. I want to be yours,” she says in a firm voice.

  I nod, wanting the same. I know this is right. It feels right, and I’ve been a fucking asshole by blaming it on my PTSD.

  “You are mine. And I’m yours. I’ll break it off with Amy. Let’s make it official,” I say, and feel a grin spreading across my face, matched by hers. I take her face in my hands, cupping it gently as I smooth my thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away the last remnants of tears.

  “I’m so sorry I made you cry, Janie. I don't want to do that. I - I love you.” I hadn’t counted on saying that, but it just came out by itself. Because it’s true. She has that effect on me - raw and uncensored emotion. Her eyes light up with love and surprise.

  “I love you too, Brent,” she whispers breathlessly.

  I crush her to me then, hungrily kissing her perfect mouth. She responds instantly by circling her arms around my neck. My right hand slides up her neck and into her hair, my left arm encircles her waist and I lift her down off the sofa, gentling laying her on the soft rug below it. I have to have her now and I know she feels the same. Leaning on one elbow, I use my free hand to open her blouse, freeing her lush double D’s into my hands. I break free from our kiss to lower my mouth to her tits, kissing them before licking her large nipples.

  “Brent,” she moans. And she’s the only girl I ever want to hear moan my name ever again. My cock hardens in my jeans and as Janie struggles to unbuckle them, her fingers fumbling. Her tits jiggle so deliciously in my face and I growl in lust. But this time I'm not scared of my animal passion for her. This time I’m not worried I’ll crush her in my power. If she trusts me, maybe I can trust myself too.

  She holds my cock in her tiny hand and guides it to her pussy, and I don’t waste any further effort on undressing myself or her.

  “Fuck me, Brent,” she whispers huskily. “Fuck me without holding back this time.”

  “Are you sure you can handle it?” I ask roughly, my voice thick with arousal.

  “I can handle anything as long as it’s with you,” she says breathlessly. “Please. Fuck me.” And cupping her neck with one hand, pushing her face up to mine so I can kiss her, I push my huge, rock-hard cock into her tight, slippery cunt. She moans, arching her back, pushing her tits up into my face. I thrust hard and deep, giving her what she wants. I groan as I bunch her hair into my fist, pulling her head back to expose her throat. She moans, loving it. I can tell by the way her pussy tightens around my cock, milking me as I move hard in and out of her. My balls are tight and ready to shoot my load.

  “Tell me again,” I growl in her throat. I can feel myself losing control as I fuck her, needing to hear her say it. And my girl delivers.

  “Fuck me, Brent,” she moans. I thrust my cock deeply, violently into her cunt, my tight balls pushing hard against her ass. She moans in delight as I groan in desperate pleasure, losing myself in her.

  “Again,” I beg. “Tell me again,” I groan, my teeth on her neck.

  “Fuck me,” she mewls again, her voice higher now, telling me she’s about to come. So I do. I fuck her, pushing my cock in to her tight little cunt so hard and deep that I forget who I am, and everything that’s ever happened to me.

  “Fuck me. Fuck me!” she screams and I come then, biting down in her neck as she convulses. She screams in pleasure, my tight balls pulsing hard against her labia as my cock spasms, milked by her tight cunt.

  After a few minutes, we both come down to Earth, still breathing hard.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her urgently. I have no idea whether or not I’ve hurt her.

  “Yes,” she giggles. “More than okay.” My cock and her cunt are still pulsing together, our orgasms taking a while to fade. I stay inside her as I lift myself back up on one elbow and look down at her beautiful, flushed face. Janie smiles up at me, caressing my face.

  “See? You haven’t killed me,” she teases. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  I shake my head, relieved, overcome with joy.

  “No. Not so bad at all,” I whisper. And I lean down to kiss her because this woman is my life. I’ve wronged her, I know that. I never should have dated another woman but it didn’t even feel like “dating” per se. It was more that I was grappling with my feelings for Janie and how strong they were. I was struggling with becoming myself once more, and as a result, did the wrong thing. But my girl is forgiving, and has given me a second chance for which I’m grateful. Because women like Janie don’t come around very often … and the love with have for each other will survive because we’ve already survived so much.

  Epilogue

  JANIE

  Six months later …

  Both my hands are palms down on the tiles of the shower, the hot water coursing down my body, my legs spread. Brent is on his knees in the space between me and the wall, his huge hard cock in his hand as he licks my clit in circles. His other hand is reached up around one of my breasts, where he’s tweaking my nipple. I moan loudly because there’s no longer any need to be quiet. Brent and I got our own small place together a couple months ago. Having decided that the best therapy for his PTSD would be to join the reserves so he can be around other young vets, we moved a little further out of town. He does training once a month. Plus, we’re both still at Smithton, and in an incredible turn of events,
Amy wasn’t pissed when I told her about Brent and me being together. I think in the back of her mind, somehow she always knew.

  Brent beats harder at his cock as he folds his mouth around my clit, sucking and sending me closer to the edge. It always turns him on to lick my pussy, a remnant from the early days where he didn’t feel strong enough to hold himself back while we fucked, where he was so scared of hurting me he’d rather pleasure me this way. It’s gotten so much better now, and while I still occasionally have bruises after he fucks me hard, I’ve never minded. It’s hot as hell and I can’t get enough.

  He pulls on my large nipple with thumb and forefinger as he licks inside my cunt, so deep he reaches my G-spot, where he twirls his tongue in tight little circles against it. It makes me scream as I come, my knees buckling. He sucks on my clit a second longer, making sure I'm done, then gets up, still beating at his cock as he presses me up against the wall with his body, crushing my huge tits flat, the water of the shower beating down on both our bodies. I’m out of breath, helpless in his control, knowing that what he’ll do next will have me coming again in just moments.

  “My turn,” he growls into my wet hair as I feel his steel-hard rod of a cock lay on my ass, covering the length of my crack from bottom to top, that’s how huge he is. He grabs it at the hilt and briefly I feel the head of it nudge my tight, slippery opening. I can feel him tense up as he gently cradles my left breast with the other hand, afraid to hurt me as usual.

  “Say it, Janie,” he growls, and I know he's close to coming from all the foreplay, even though we haven’t even started fucking yet. “Tell me to fuck you.”

  I give it to him.

  “Fuck me, Brent. Hard,” I beg. Wanting it so badly, wanting him to make me gush, wanting him to explode deep inside me after just a few hard thrusts. But he still hesitates.

  “Fuck me,” I command again. And with a deep, sensual groan, he slams me up against the wall as he pushes his huge cock inside me so hard that it spreads my ass cheeks, and lifts me up off the floor. I moan in ecstasy as he thrusts again, harder and harder, pressing his hard head up and along my G-spot.

  “Say it,” he growls, breathing hard. “Say it!”

  “Fuck me!” I scream, and as he pounds my pussy from behind, rubbing my clit with his free hand. I feel my insides clench up and I come again, screaming. I’m suspended on his cock in mid-air as he delivers a few more hard thrusts, making my ass bounce with the movement.

  “Janie,” he groans, exploding inside me, pulling my hair.

  Still pulsing inside of me, he sets me gently back down, folding his arms around my curvy frame.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, his caring voice still deep from lust.

  “Yes,” I whisper, meaning it. He always asks this after we have sex. “I’m always okay, baby. As long as I have you.” He pulls out gently and turns me around to face him. He looks incredible, with his black hair dripping wet and the water from the shower beading on his perfect body. He pushes my chin up with his finger.

  “I think you’re confused, baby,” he says, his blue eyes piercing into my soul. “It’s me who’s always okay as long as I have you.”

  I blush, even though we’ve spoken of this hundreds of times by now. Because by now, our lives are so entwined that I don’t know who needs whom more, me or Brent? All I know is that this handsome soldier came into life and we got off to a rough start. He fucked me in a movie theater with other people a few feet away. And then he started dating my roommate at the same time because he was so confused and tangled within his own head. But I’ve forgiven Brent because he was suffering from PTSD and afraid of the monsters within. Yet with time, therapy, and my unrelenting support, my man’s come into his own … and we’ll be happy together forevermore.

  THE END

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  The Dirty Exam

  ~A Secret Baby Medical Romance~

  © 2017

  By Katie Ford

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  DEDICATION

  To all the dirty girls who love check-ups.

  This book’s for you!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jane

  I didn’t want to step into that doctor’s office.

  I wanted to be anywhere but here.

  My finger hovered over the “Call” button on my phone’s screen, tempted to cancel the appointment altogether. The horror stories came crashing down in my brain.

  It’ll hurt.

  There’s pain deep inside, where you’ve never felt before.

  They use all these metal instruments, straight out of a medieval torture scene.

  My sister Martha had explained in great detail how the exam would work. They squeeze your breasts hard. They put their hands all over your supple body. The more she talked about it, the more nervous I became. She described a long, hard, cold metal scapula as the weapon of choice by these merciless gynecologists, and it’d be pushed all the way into my most private spaces.

  What?

  I’ve never had anything up there before!

  Not dildos, not tampons, not even my finger.

  I’m a virgin.

  So how was this going to work?

  Just thinking about it made me squirm as my thighs squeezed together, desperately trying to protect my innocent body from these violent invaders. All this in the name of health and medicine? How could it be so brutal?

  But right. This was about health and safety, not fun and games.

  Because every single woman in my family has been diagnosed with breast cancer. Even my sister, who isn’t even that much older than me. It’s probably the same gene that runs in Angelina Jolie’s family, BRCA something or other. I’ve never been tested out of fear more than anything else. Sometimes, it’s better not to know, especially when you’re expecting the worst.

  Plus, let’s face it. Getting a gyno exam is part of growing up. Since I’m now an adult at eighteen, it’s a rite of passage that every woman goes through. This thing can’t be put off forever. At some point, it’s going to happen, and maybe sooner was better than later.

  Ugh.

  I take what feels like the deepest breath of my life, biting my lip several times with nervousness, although that doesn’t keep it from quivering uncontrollably. My hands clench into panicked fists like I’m getting ready to head into a boxing ring.

  Calm down, my internal voice soothes. It’s not that bad.

  Right. Every female goes through this. So getting a grip, I take another deep breath and finally open the door to the doctor’s office.

  Hmm, not bad. Instead of institutional green walls and flickering fluorescent lights straight out of an insane asylum, Dr. Alba’s office is cozy actually. The walls are a neutral, rosy-pink, and a decorative rug below my feet really makes the room pop with color. The air temperature is moderate, and not freezing cold like a lot of hospitals. Plus, there are flowers. Real blooms to brighten up the space, not fake plastic things.

  My lungs exhale, the stress rushing from my frame. This isn’t going to be so bad.

  Directly in front of me is the receptionist’s desk. Hmm, not bad. A tray of brochures, plus a bowl of candy. That made me smile. Anything having to do with candy can’t be so terrible, seeing how much I love my Snickers and Mars bars.

  The receptionist greets me with a professional smile.

  “Hi there, I’m Emily. Welcome to Dr. Alba’s office,” she says warmly.

  But then my nerves come rushing back, but for a totally different reason altogether. Because the receptionist is absolutely gorgeous. Slender and blonde with big blue eyes and a perfect ski slope nose. By contrast, I’m a curvy, with big breasts and major junk in the trunk. Sometimes I feel like I haven’t stopped growing, except I’m expanding horizontally, and not vertically now.<
br />
  Subconsciously, I cross my legs and tuck a curl behind my ear, clearing my throat nervously.

  But the receptionist doesn’t seem to notice my fidgeting, or at least doesn’t let on.

  “Do you have an appointment with us today?” she prompts with a white smile.

  I nod.

  “Yes,” come my words. “I’m Jane Dorman? I have an appointment with Dr. Alba today? For an … um, exam?” Nervously, my fingers play with my hair.

  Normally, a receptionist will nod and check her computer. But instead, this woman’s face fell. Oh no, what was wrong? What had I done wrong? Should I leave? Should I turn back around and get into my car?

  The woman clears her throat, expression apologetic.

  “I’m so sorry, but your exam must have been scheduled by mistake because Dr. Alba isn’t in today. She left yesterday for a much-deserved vacation.”

  The receptionist looks sad, but now I have a reason to smile. Because what a relief! The doctor isn’t here! It’s as if my silent prayers were answered, raining manna from heaven. I guess I’ll have to re-schedule for another time.

  “But you’re in luck, Miss Dorman,” the receptionist chirps. “Dr. Morgan has an opening, right now in fact. He’s very good. Dr. Alba asked him to come in today in case there were any emergencies. Would you like to see him instead?”