“You are so flippin' sexy, you know that?” he asks, pulling off his own shoes and joining me next to the bed. “Your ugly panties only emphasize how nice your ass is.”
“And it's your lack of panties that does the same for yours.”
Zayden grins and snatches the pink dice off the bed, clacking them around in his palm for a moment before he kisses his knuckles and looks up at me.
“I figure these are pretty straightforward, right? Do I get to roll them first?”
“Only if you promise you're not avoiding the jelly sleeve,” I say as I scoot onto the bed and open the box, dumping the packaging on the floor. Inside is basically a dildo with ridges on the outside and a vibrator positioned to hit the clit during penetration. The difference between this thing and all the other toys at the store is that this one is a sleeve. It's actually supposed to slip over Zayden's cock, but leave the tip exposed. The employee at the store assured us we could use it with condoms safely.
“Avoiding the fact that you bought me a rubber penis enhancer is a bad thing?” he jokes, tossing the pink and red dice onto the bedspread and then pausing to read them. One of them lists body parts—mouth, cock, clit, nipples, etc.—and the other shows instructions like suck, lick, rub, blow and so on. “Alright, Smarty-Pants, according to my roll …” he trails off and gives me this look from beneath his lashes that's sexy as hell. His voice when he speaks, is low and dangerous. “My roll …” Zay pauses for a moment and wrinkles his brow. “Slap toes?” he asks.
I sit up and crawl down to the end of the bed. He really did roll slap and toes.
“Um.”
“That's not very sexy, is it?” Zayden asks as I lean back and present my feet to him.
I shrug my shoulders and bite my lip, trying my best to hold back a laugh.
“We agreed to try this out. So go ahead, do it. Slap my toes.”
Zayden grabs my feet and makes me squeal, smacking my toes in what I'm guessing is the most sensual way possible. I don't think there's a person on earth that could do it better. Still, no. Nope. Suppose I'm just not a big toe slapper.
“I think I deserve a re-roll,” he says and I grin.
“Nope. My turn.” I take the dice, let them dance on my own palm and then throw them across the black glossy surface of the new bedspread Zay bought us. I really need to get a job, and so does he so he can stop using that damn credit card. I think he's spending too much on it. “Lick … kneecap.”
We exchange a look.
“I guess that could be sexy if, you know, you ran the tongue around it all slow and sensual and—”
“I'm not sure I like these dice,” I say and Zayden nods, grabbing them and chucking them onto the floor. This time, of course, they roll to suck and cock. Damn it. “I mean, I like the idea. Maybe we should try making our own sometime?”
“Can we not put kneecap or toes on it?” he asks me with a sultry grin, grabbing the jelly sleeve with a sigh and looking at it almost remorsefully. “Alright, Smarty-Pants, let's do this thing.”
I scoot back toward the pillows as Zay climbs up on the mattress with me, setting aside our new toy for the moment so he can kiss and lick his away along the lace curves of my bra.
“I was praying for those dice to send me here,” he whispers, popping one of the aching mounds over the wire of the bra and teasing it with hands splattered in ink, etched with art. They're even prettier when they're all over my body like that.
I realize suddenly as one his lip rings brushes across my nipple that he never answered my question last week, never told me if he was planning on getting a job as a body piercer up here.
For some reason, that makes me nervous.
I know that seems like a weird thing to start thinking with Zayden's mouth warm and slick on my nipple, but I can't help it. The thought just pops into my brain and won't go away.
“Zayden,” I whisper, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling his lips a few careful inches away from the rosy peaks of my nipples. “You never answered me when I asked you what you were planning on doing up here. For a job, I mean.”
He freezes like a deer caught in the headlights and then sighs, letting his head flop in my grip so that he's basically hanging by my grip on his hair. When I let go, Zayden buries his face between my breasts for a moment.
“It's a stupid fucking idea, I know …” he starts, but I make him look at me with another careful grasping of hair.
“What is?” I ask, my heart beating so fast that I'm dizzy all of a sudden.
His green eyes lock onto my brown ones for a long, aching moment of silence.
“I'm thinking of opening up a daycare,” he says in a whisper, and I raise both my brows.
“A daycare?” I can't stop myself from blinking in surprise. “Are you serious?”
“I dunno,” he says, ruffling up his hair and tossing me a slightly embarrassed little smile. “I kind of liked being a nanny for you, you know? Like, maybe that's kind of my calling or whatever.”
“Are you sure it wasn't just because you were having sex with the master of the house?” I ask, but Zayden just keeps smiling that self-deprecating smile of his.
“I'm sure. I know it sounds stupid as hell—”
“It doesn't,” I assure him, trying to make him believe my words. “Not at all. If that's what you want to do, then do it. Don't let anybody stop you from living your dreams.”
“Aw, Smarty-Pants, look at you. You're all cute and innocent and shit.”
Zayden lifts up and covers my mouth with his own, grinding his bare pelvis against the thin fabric of my panties, the head of his cock teasing the soft fabric with every thrust. Each time he moves, it feels like he's about to slide inside of me. Only … he doesn't.
It's fucking maddening.
His hands finally free my other breast, his mouth taking turns teasing one and then the other. I swear, Zayden must have some kind of radar in his head that tells him exactly how far to go before he stops, leaving me panting and shaking and desperate to be naked underneath him.
He sits up with a chuckle, flashing the piercings in his cock and balls, the tattoos around his hips and thighs. Without bothering to help, he sits there and watches me strip down with a frantic quivering need taking over my hands and fingers. By the time I'm completely stripped, I'm shaking all over.
Zayden grabs a condom and slips it over his shaft, adding a generous amount of lube and then slipping the new toy over his cock.
“Holy shit, that feels good,” he whispers, using the toy like a masturbation sleeve for a moment. And then he presses the button on the vibrator and his lids get droopy and heavy. “Okay, I lied. I don't hate this thing as much as I thought I would.”
That beautiful mouth of his turns into a grin as he leans over me again, kissing and sucking at the tender flesh between my neck and shoulder, moving across my collarbone. When he first positions himself at my opening, I almost forget we're trying something new here, arching my hips up and gasping at the thickness of his shaft.
“Told you I was already big enough,” he growls, pushing me back down into the bed and easing himself slowly, slowly, slowly into me. The sensation's almost too much, bringing tears to my eyes that are completely and utterly different from the ones he worked out of me last time. “Can you take it, Smarty-Pants?”
“I don't know,” I whisper, and then we just sit there for a moment, our bodies connected, our hearts beating rapidly against one another. I can feel the thump of his pulse the same way I do the bass when I turn my music up too loud in my car. There's something relaxing about it, the way it races and skitters when he's touching me.
I let myself melt into the bed and Zayden starts to move again.
His body works mine into a network of nerve endings and white-hot pleasure that I don't know what to do with. It just twists around inside of me until I feel like it just has to come out somehow. And yes, the toy is new and exciting and different, but … really, it's Zayden that makes me feel this way.
<
br /> “I want to hear you say it,” he whispers in my ear, making me shiver, every place he touches me burning as bright as a dying star. “I told you my stupid daycare dream. So please, Smarty-Pants, say it.”
I don't have to ask what it is that he wants me to say: I know.
I let him work us up a little more, push us both a little further. I don't let my traitorous tongue speak the words until my orgasm is wrapped so tightly around me that I have no choice but to let them fall or be incinerated from the inside out.
“I love you, Zayden Roth,” I breathe and the sound of those syllables falling from my lips, that's enough to make him come, too.
When we get up in the morning to leave for Las Vegas, it's still dark outside, a few brave birds singing from the trees to the right of the driveway. I can't see any of them when I look up, but I know they're there.
Zayden and I pack a cooler with way too many PB&Js inside of it, all wrapped up tight in ziplock bags. Mercedes and Rob donated a bunch of carbonated waters that we probably won't drink, and at some point one of the kids threw a handful of tiny plastic dinosaurs inside.
We decide to just leave them there.
“That was nice of Rob to lend us the minivan,” I say as I throw my duffel bag inside and try not to feel too guilty about the fact that Mercedes and Rob are going to have to split the children up between the two cars. Anything that makes the morning more complicated totally sucks. Zay and I have learned that firsthand. But then, neither of our cars is especially roomy. Even with the van, he'll probably have to put some things in storage.
“Don't worry,” Zayden tells me, still in a ridiculously chipper mood from last night. “He'll be sure to bitch about it later and ruin all traces of goodwill you feel toward him. Trust me: that's his thing.”
I laugh, climbing into the front seat of the van and waiting for Zayden to join me.
“You ready?” he asks, sliding into the driver's seat and raising a pierced brow at me.
“I'm ready,” I tell him, and he starts the engine, pulling us out of the driveway with … fucking nineties pop music blaring in the background. We played rock-paper-scissors again to see who got to start the trip; we're supposed to switch every hour from here on out, but if I play my cards right, I can probably get him to forget about the music altogether …
For a while we don't speak, enjoying the faint rosy blush of dawn outside the car window. I yawn about every fifteen seconds and then fall into a sort of half-sleep plagued by dreams of boy bands. When I wake up, it feels like I've only been asleep for minutes although in reality it's been about four hours.
“Shit,” I say, scrambling to sit up and rubbing the remainder of sleep from my eyes. “Why didn't you wake me up?”
“You just looked so damn cute over there,” he says with this contented asshole male expression on his face. I shouldn't have said I love you last night; I should've made him wait longer. “Plus, you were snoring, moaning, and drooling all at the same time. Didn't want to pass that up.”
I get a cold plastic dinosaur from the cooler and then throw it at him, but all it does is make him laugh. On an impulse, I grab my phone from the cup holder and check for messages. There are about a dozen from my mom.
With a sigh, I check my texts to see what's up, expecting her to say something about what happened at the house the other day. She hasn't contacted me even once since, but I refuse to be the one that budges. It's always me. This time, if she wants to talk, she'll have to call me first.
Brooke, Ingrid is back in town with her boyfriend, the first message says. But it's the second one that makes my heart hurt like hell. They're here to get the girls back.
“What's wrong?” Zay asks I stare down at the words, a million different thoughts and emotions running through my head at the same time. Ingrid is back. But for how long?
I set the phone in my lap and try to take a few calming breaths.
I uprooted my goddamn life to deal with her mess, and here she is, popping back in unannounced?
The feeling in my gut is not a good one.
“My sister's back in town,” I say with a sigh, leaning my head against the seat and closing my eyes for a moment. “And she wants the girls.”
Without a word, Zayden slows down, looks into the rearview mirror for a moment … and then makes a terribly illegal u-turn across the highway median.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he glances over at me and smiles this tight little half-smile.
“We're going back,” he tells me firmly, “we can go to Vegas next week. First, let's go home and deal with this.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, because already, I know there's not a lot I can do. Maybe I shouldn't want to? Ingrid's their mom. If she actually wants to act like one, I should be happy for the girls. Only … I know her. She's only going to stay long enough to screw up everything I've worked so hard to build. Before my parents moved to Wildwood, before Dad was diagnosed, Ingrid used to leave Bella with them and pop in and out whenever she pleased. Sometimes she was only gone for days, sometimes weeks, and last time, it was for a whole year. She stopped for a while after Grace was born, but obviously, there's a pattern here. “You don't have to do that,” I say, but Zayden's already zipping up the highway in the direction we came.
“Sure, I do. Don't be such a dopey Smarty-Pants, and don't worry so much. I'll help you figure this out. We'll do whatever it takes, okay?”
I feel a few tears prick the edges of my eyes, but not because I'm sad. No, right now I'm mostly just pissed the hell off.
These, these are tears of gratitude for Zayden, because for once in my life, there's somebody that's on my side.
We.
He said we. It's not just me anymore that has to handle the weight of the world on my own. It's us. Me and Zayden.
And hell or high water, we're going to handle this shit … together.
To Be Continued …
Look for the next book in the series on August 31st, 2017!
Five runaway teens, one epic love story.
.
His name is Rhoden Richards, but his nickname is Big Dick.
DESCRIPTION
Why on earth would any woman want to win a date with Rhoden Richards, the star quarterback of the NFL's Arcata Adders?
He's a complete and total dick with a stupid (and totally inappropriate) nickname. Besides, we've all heard the rumors about the women and the parties, all seen his outrageous victory dances on the field. He's close enough to getting kicked off the team without adding yet another scandal to his roster.
An affair with the daughter of the team's owner would rank pretty high on that list.
Especially if she was already engaged (against her will) to the man her father would sell the team to.
Or if he got her pregnant.
Especially that.
***
Della Garland is the daughter of corporate giant CEO, Reuben Garland, the owner of the NFL team, the Arcata Adders. When she inadvertently ends up winning the grand prize for a charity event, she finds herself on a date with one of the hottest players in football–and in the bedroom. Rhoden Richards is an animal of a man with an enigmatic smile and a back etched in tattoos, a bad boy that Della can't help but be drawn to.
But Della's father has other plans for her, plans that will not only keep the family fortune from falling apart, but that will also keep Rhoden from losing his place on the team. When her promised fiance buys the Adders from Della's father, they both find themselves at risk of losing everything.
Rhoden knows he should let Della go, but he doesn't know about the pregnancy she's hiding from all of them. If he did, would he be able to walk away from the only woman he's ever loved?
Della knows she should tell Rhoden about the baby, but bad boys don't change, and a child is forever. She could keep the secret to herself and stay with her soon-to-be husband…or she could take a chance.
CHAPTER ONE
A Man Called Big Dick
“That a
rrogant son of a …”
I trail off and run my fingers through my hair, risking a glance at my father's face before I refocus my attention on the game. The outside air is like a sauna, turning the chiseled arms and faces of the players into shiny masks of sweat. Of course, I can't exactly see any of that from up here. In my father's skybox, all the brightly uniformed men on the field look like ants.
“He's definitely a bit of a showboater,” Walter Virgil says as he laughs a throaty, husky laugh that used to get me all twisted up in a knot. Lately, it's just not doing it for me. Maybe it's because my dad is trying to marry me off to the guy like I'm some sort of medieval princess? I glance back at him, taking in the crisp, tailored lines of his suit and the perfectly metrosexual sculpting of his five o'clock shadow.
Suddenly, I'm desperate to get out of that air-conditioned cage.
“He's not just a showboater in the dictionary sense of the word,” I interject, causing the numerous suited individuals to squirm in their chairs. See, I don't have a penis, so anything I might have to think or say on the subject of football is pretty much null and void. Okay, so anything I might have to think or say period seems to be null and void in this company.
Being the daughter of a man who owns the Arcata Adders used to seem like a dream to me. Now, it feels more like a nightmare.
“Celebration or taunting of any kind are actual offenses in the NFL, subject to suspensions or large fines.” I hold up a manicured fingernail and continue before any of the good ol' boys enjoying the food, drink, and scantily clad waitresses in my father's skybox can object. “And a player who leaves his feet,” I glare out the window at the tiny ant-sized shape that is Rhoden Richards, “or uses a prop is actually liable for a fifteen yard penalty for excessive celebration.”
Good Boyfriend: A Love Story (The Bad Nanny Trilogy Book 2) Page 9
