Back in the Saddle
(Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)
Author: K.F. Breene
Website: http://kfbreene.com/
Twitter: @KFBreene
Smashwords Edition: May 2013
Revision: June, 2013
Copyright © 2013 by K.F. Breene
Editing services provided by LLM Editing, LLMVirtualAssistance.com
Other Titles by K.F. Breene
Skyline Series (romance novels)
Building Trouble, Book 1
Jessica Brodie Diaries (romance novels)
Back in the Saddle, Book 1-free
Hanging On, Book 2
A Wild Ride, Book 3
Daniels’s Mansion (erotic shorts)
Daniels’s Mansion: The New Maid-free
Daniels’s Mansion: The Cook’s Delight
Daniels’s Mansion: The Girls’ Night In
Daniels’s Mansion: Pushing Boundaries
School’s Out (erotic shorts)
Teaching the Professor-free
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter One
I had done it again.
I promised myself I would never end up here.
Not again.
But here I was, opening my bleary, make-up crusted eyes to a strange room, with strange lighting, and a strange man next to me, currently trying to hump my back in his sleep.
While I didn’t usually wake up in these situations with a guy trying to hump me—wait, yes I did. Usually the guy in question was awake, though.
I rubbed my eyes, trying not to smear my make-up any more than it already was, and decided I needed to figure out if this character was an ex-boyfriend, a hot guy, or simply an ugly loser like usual.
One might argue that the first and the last were the same person.
Trying not to stir the bed, and potentially wake the hopefully gorgeous stranger behind me, I cocked my head at an unnatural angle to get a glimpse of the guy’s face—I’ll call him Joe. Having a name for the dude I just slept with made the blockage in my chest loosen slightly.
Joe lay with his nude groin against my back, slightly rocking and pumping to an erotic dream. His head was angled away, slightly turned toward the pillow, making seeing his features impossible. The way he robotically thrust against my back reminded me of a dog humping a leg; its head turned to the side with a look of grim determination as it worked away at something that wasn’t working back.
I could sure pick ‘em.
Joe’s buzz cut could’ve possibly been a flat top, but I couldn’t quite glimpse the top of his head. Regardless, it was similar, which meant he was either in the military and therefore had probably just given me an STD, or he was stuck in the 80’s and had just lost his virginity. Either way, I did not know Joe.
One thing caught my eye. His body. From what I could see, and being that the sheets were around our ankles, I could see plenty, he was head-to-toe muscular. Not only that, but each muscle was fantastically defined. In fact, I must have noticed this last night. Must have, right? Or else, why would I be waking up next to him today?
I figured, in a ridiculous, hung-over, stuck in the fog sort of way, that I might just wait the morning out and see if I stumbled upon a blessing in disguise. Granted, if he was in any way cute, he would shove me out of his…apartment? condo? house?! as fast as he could. But what if he had noticed how witty, charming and amazing I was last night, and didn’t mind that our looks didn’t match up? In fact, maybe he’d be excited I didn’t sprint out of here.
“If hopes were nickels, Jessica, I would be rich,” my Dad’s voice echoed through my pounding head.
I shouldn’t have started on the Cuervo last night. The world always got a little too colorful when tequila was thrown in the mix. It’s a bad decision that led to other, worse decisions.
Like going home with a random stranger.
Again.
With a sinking feeling in my gut, I decided it might be worth a try to grab the sheet, get it up over the bad parts of my body—so to my neck, since putting it over my head would be weird—and rustle around to wake the sleeping Adonis. It was do-or-die time.
I eased myself up, unable to help myself, and giving a discreet look down at Joe’s stiff cock. My insides fluttered. Good size. Not too big or thick to give fears of a second virginity, but big enough to get the action that a girl in her mid-twenties deemed necessary. Being that it was attached to a mouth-watering body of pure toned muscle, I might’ve actually landed a keeper.
Maybe instead of cursing tequila, I should praise it. Hmm.
I clutched the sheet in two fistfuls and yanked. It came free from his legs and slid nicely over our bodies. I was just about to turn toward him when I noticed the smell. It wafted up and flirted with my nose.
I gagged.
It smelt like mildew mixed with intense body odor. Imagine being in New York at the height of the summer with the moist heat, add a male German exchange student after a day of not using deodorant, mix that with a musty aging process, and you might have it. It was vile. Intensely vile. Fucking rancid if I’m being honest.
And, correct me if I’m wrong, please correct me because hopefully I'm wrong, but the smell originated from his sheets.
I bent my head for a close-up sniff, and then almost passed out from the pungent aroma. My queasy belly rolled as the odor lodged at the back of my throat. I could handle the headache, the cotton mouth and even the constant reminder that throwing up was inevitable. Collage years made those sensations seem normal. But nasty smelling sheets? I had to draw the line somewhere.
Compromising between my bare body and sheets that could probably walk out of the room on their own, I bunched the fabric right above my br**sts. I took a deep breath—through my mouth so I didn’t need a Hazmat suit—to focus.
Okay, let’s get our bearings. In a bed that smells like moldy ass. With a dude that is sculpted in the image of a god. A Roman or Greek god, perhaps. Or maybe a son of theirs.
I loves me a good body.
I hates me terrible smells and unquestionably bad hygiene.
I really loves me a good body. I love to touch said body. Kiss it. Run my mouth along the muscles and ripples of it.
Suddenly my nether regions were rousing to the thoughts of playing with his body. There had to be a positive side to this. I wanted to step out of my current rut as a single girl and settle into something more predictable. With someone more predictable. I was getting too old for the constant drunken nights and guilt-ridden mornings. I wasn’t quite out of college, but I was ready to be out of the college lifestyle.
There was a chance I picked a winner last night. While black-out drunk. On tequila.
Yeah, a chance, alright. It didn’t take a math major to figure out the odds on that one.
Decision: Wake up the dude, hopefully learn that this is his friend’s bed, and that he is visiting from Italy where he will be returning in a month. I will then need to clear my calendar and go with him when he asks, because he will. Obviously.
Pushing down my instincts to scream and run from this room, I turned toward his now still body. I allowed my glass-mostly-empty mind to think about the location of my clothes as I ging
erly put my hand to his arm and gave a little shake.
A harder shake.
I know he is alive because he was gyrating against my back not ten minutes ago.
A good push and he finally grunted, swinging his head from deep inside the pillow’s recesses.
I jerked back with a grimace. My head pulsed in agony. An exit plan solidified out of thin air.
The kid got beat with the ugly stick! And you know how nuns can whack really, really hard? And it hurts? And they do it over-and-over again when you’ve been bad? I went to a Catholic school as a girl, and I know.
Well, think of this kid as getting hit with the ugly stick by God; the Guy that taught the nuns everything they know. Not only that, but made an example of this poor fellow in order to prove a point, because Christ-on-a-cracker, this dude was f**king ugly!!!
His buzzed flat top did a poor job of covering the point at top of his head. His fuzzy side burns and thick, black mustache were unkempt, riding atop a short, thick neck. The list continued with a hooked nose, eyes too close together, and other horrors, but I was too busy shivering with the heebie-jeebies to analyze.
And who did I have to blame? When I was so anxious to lick his clothes off last night, did I not look up to meet the face of the man I was speaking to? And if I did, because I might have, why-did-I-not-turn-and-run? It was like introducing Mr. Hyde to Mr. Cuervo, and then getting really mad when a hooker ended up dead.
I eased myself toward the edge of the bed, away from my captor. Trying to keep my violent gagging at bay by breathing through my mouth, I made good time without too much bed movement. Small miracles. As I slipped out from under the sheet, I put my foot on the ground and something squished.
I gagged again. It was last night’s condom and some spilt KY jelly. The KY squeezed up between my first two toes like jam. The condom wrapped around my foot and hooked onto my pinky toe.
Well, at least we were safe! I thought desperately, shaking my foot with vigor.
My stomach lurched viciously as I threw another gag into mid-air. Nothing came up—another stroke of luck. But now, looking down, where the hell were my clothes?
Eyes scanning the ground with fervor, I couldn’t find a stitch that was mine.
What, did I strip at the bar and take a taxi in the buff?
I gingerly tip-toed to his side of the bed and past a discarded pair of men’s white underwear. My eyes caught, then glued, to a deep brown poop stain in the crotch.
I groaned. What the f**k was I doing here with a guy like this? Why did my life keep replaying these bad scenes? I was way too old for this.
Freezing my ass off, but too afraid to pick up anything because of the possible insect infestation, I finally got glimpse of my underwear. Oh thank god!
I darted in like a wild animal scavenging the plains before a predator could find and kill it. Underwear, on. Bra, yes, straps…on. Nice! Pillage, pillage, snort… snort?
Mistake number one-million-and-eleven was waking up, feeling around my newly vacant side of the bed. Oh crap, hurry, hurry!
Pants. Got pants. It was tricky to get them on in a hurry with a bleary head. I got them over my butt and nearly buttoned when I heard, “Oh, hey, you’re awake.”
I froze. The high, squeaky voice reminded me of a boy before puberty. Slowly I raised my head, and met beady eyes.
In all fairness, his eyes were a nice shade of brown, but for our purposes here, they were beady.
“Oh hey, yeah, I really need to get going! I have class in about an hour. Sorry to run and all, but…”
Wait, it was Sunday. School on Sunday? That wasn’t even a good lie. Too late now.
I continued my desperate search for my articles of clothing. I only had a few pieces to go before I had a full set. I was prepared to walk home barefoot if need be.
“Oh right. I forgot you were still in school.” He grabbed something small and metallic off his night-stand.
“Yeah. Don’t want to be late. Lots to do. My group needs me. Don’t you need to get going for…anything?”
He paused to light a small, bronze object, then sucked on the end of it for all he was worth. Looking at me, scanning my br**sts and body, he held his breath for a brief period before blowing a plume of smoke into my general direction. The waft was sweet—definitely not tobacco.
“Don’t you remember?” he asked as he reached down to fondle his balls. His dick was at half-mast, probably from waking up. If it got any bigger, I would seriously leave without the rest of my crap. “I am un-em-ployed. Lay-offs. Yeah, I am enjoying it. I pretty much hang around and smoke weed all day on someone else’s dime. Well, and work out. Not as big as I want to be yet, but I'm working on it.”
“Uh huh, sure. Definitely, yeah.”
My shirt, a cute little number that showed off my cle**age and matched my browny-green eyes, would not let me hook the clasp! Of all the times to rebel!
Apparently, suddenly feeling like he needed to switch from lightly stroking his manhood, to helping me, Joe heaved himself from the bed.
Oh man, God was a f**ker to this poor guy! Either that, or Joe did something really awful in a past life. He was mini-sized! I was not tall, being five-foot-six, but I had to cast my eyes downward to meet his.
Without another thought, I turned toward the exit. I just wanted this little escapade to be over. I wanted to laugh about this later. I really wanted to think these types of things were still hilarious at twenty-five years old, I really did. Just like I wanted to think that being in college for a bachelor’s degree was also still normal at twenty-five.
“Oh, I’ll walk you to the door.” And out he followed. In the buff.
Why me?
I figured I would just throw it out there. “You know that you are naked, right?”
He looked mildly surprised as he looked down. “Oh…yeah. I swear I thought I told you this last night. Yeah, I am a nudist. Well, not 100% or anything. I just like being in the flesh. More natural, you know? I wear clothes when I have to go in public--or else I’ll get arrested.” He chuckled. It wasn’t funny. “But when I can, I really like being out there. Not restrictions, you know? It totally gives a sense of freedom. You should try it.”
He gave me a soft but firm push toward and out the door as he followed me. He wanted to prove his convictions.
This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. This wasn’t real life.
I led the one-man-NAKED-band down the stairs of the apartment complex, through the lobby, and to the front entrance. The whole time he was dangling away behind me, showing off his goods for all the building to see. This was the worst walk of shame I had ever experienced. Ever! And I wasn’t even the one on display!
Two old, church-going women were making their way into the building as we headed out. Instead of scoffing or screaming, I heard, “Oh gracious, Irene, he’s got no clothes on again. He will catch cold one of these days--mark my words! And he managed to get a girl?” And they strolled past, continuing their conversation just out of earshot.
“Well, it was fun, Jo..uh…see ya later, then.” I gave a small wave and bounded from the premises. I didn’t know where in the city I was, how to get home, or even where my socks were, but I couldn't stay in that kid’s presence another second!
I climbed the stairs to the two bedroom apartment I shared with Ami, Mother Theresa re-incarnate. Man, I hated my roommate. It wasn’t that she was a mean person. Quite sickeningly the opposite, in fact. She didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t do or ever try any drugs, got all A’s in school, had a good body, and was pretty. Basically, a mother’s wet dream. My mother’s wet dream. It sucked.
Halfway through the hall, I heard the first screech of nails on chalkboard: “Where were you last night?”
Could the woman get a life? Any at all. Hell, a game of bridge or bingo at a church function would be better than hanging around, looking through books, and waiting to throw verbal stones when I skulked in looking like a homeless show girl.
I slowly turned
to face the interrogation head-on, head held high. Hands clasped to hide the tremor, I straightened my back and oozed purpose. Hopefully she didn’t smell the stale beer from my clothes from the few mishaps in balance last night.
“I was with a friend.” I said in a matter-of-fact tone, easily hiding the lie. “Why?”
“Oh. You went to a slumber party, then?”
“Not since I was five, no. I stayed over at a friend’s house.”
“Oh, I see.”
“His house was closer to the bar.”
“The bar?” Her eyes flared as she glanced down to my clothes. She was judging. She must be! I looked like a hot mess.
“His house?” she continued excitedly. “Oh! Is this a new boy-friend?”
“No, actually. Just a friend. That I know. From school. No big deal."
“Oh. That’s nice! How long have you known him?”
“A while. It’s no big deal. Just a friend. So…” I half-turned, indicating that my unraveling had nothing to do with her questions.
“How exciting!” She threw me a friendly smile, missing my subtle cues.
“Well, not really. It was kind of a dull night. Well, I am going to head to the shower…”
“But, didn’t you shower at your friend’s house? Did you forget your overnight bag?”
Honestly, only the intensely naive were this inquisitive. Either that, or her mental pen was scribbling furiously in anticipation of relaying all of this to her busy-body, snooty mother.
I attempted a nonchalant, overconfident hair flick, but with so much residual hairspray tangling un-brushed sex hair, my fingers got snared. I yanked my hand away, painfully ripping a few strands of hair with it, and tried for an all-knowing smile to hide my discomfort.
“I didn’t actually know we were going to a bar that was so far away. You know cab drivers; they can be dangerous at night. So, I just stayed with him at the last minute. Didn’t have my toiletries so I thought I would just head back home to shower.” Lie.
“Oh my God! You should have called me! I could have come and picked you up. I was home early from dinner with Randolph. You definitely don’t want to be entrusting your life with cab drivers. A nice looking young girl in this city? No way!”
Breene, K F - Jessica Brodie Diaries 01 Page 1
