Don't Come Around Here: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance

by Eva Luxe

  “That feels so good,” he says, as I firmly karate-chop his upper shoulder blades. “That’s amazing.”

  “Why thank you,” I reply. “I took a massage course in college. At Sarah Lawrence, it counted as gym credit.”

  “Wow!”

  He laughs.

  “I know, right? At least I put my parents’ tuition to good use.”

  “You sure did.”

  As I squeeze lengthwise down the back of his arms, a new song starts playing.

  “Oh my god. This is ‘Hallelujah.’”

  “You like Leonard Cohen?” he asks.

  “Like him?” she answers. “I think he’s one of the best poets who ever lived. He just happens to also be a musician.”

  “Agreed. Except this song is just too much to take, sometimes. The way it shows how…”

  I knead his shoulders, listening to the music and his words, but he trails off.

  “Shows how what?” I prod.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Nothing.”

  How love can leave a man so weak. He doesn’t want to be weak.

  I kiss his shoulders, knowing exactly what he’s thinking, but not saying.

  “Well, I think this is what you need,” I tell him. “Some relaxation and a nice massage.”

  “I think I need a little more than that,” he says suggestively, and we laugh.

  “Seriously, Ramsey. You think so much about other people, before yourself. You should just put yourself first sometimes.”

  “You mean like this?”

  He wraps his arms around me and kisses me. He pulls my hand towards the tent in his pants, and I grab hold of it, feeling how hard and ready it is. His desire feels so intense, so overpowering, that I shiver, thinking about how much he wants me, how all of this is for me.

  “I think there’s something I can do for you,” I tell him.

  “Oh yeah?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at me, his green eyes locked hard on mine.

  “Oh yeah. Just let someone take care of you for once. Let that someone be me.”

  “I already know you know how to take such good care of me,” he says, with a grin.

  I take off his pants and boxer briefs and then his shirt. I trace my fingers over his hard pecs, his six pack abs and the tattoo on his chest and arm. Then I run them up his muscular thighs and along his large, hard cock.

  “Oh, my God,” I can’t help but tell him.

  His body is perfect. It’s everything I could ever want in a man. I bend slightly and lick his cock, staring up at him as my tongue traces its shaft and then I lightly suck on its head.

  “Oh, Monica,” he moans, leaning into me so that he’s shoving his cock further into my mouth. “Eat my cock like the little naughty nymph I know you can be.”

  I love the way he talks to me; the sound of his voice while his cock is in my mouth turns me on so much. I eagerly suck his cock some more while playing with his balls.

  He grabs a hold of the back of my head and rams his cock in and out of my mouth, grunting and saying, “Eat my cock, fill up your pretty little mouth with it and suck on it like that, hell yeah, that feels so fucking good.”

  I move my hand up and down his long shaft while sucking on him and then I swirl my tongue all around his delicious cock. He reaches down and puts his hand up my skirt. Then he rips my panties to the side and fingers me while I bounce up and down on his hand and suck his cock.

  “You’re so wet,” he groans. “You’re dripping for me.”

  He’s rubbing my clit and with his other hand he pulls my breasts out of their bra and rubs one of my nipples too. He takes his hand off my pussy and it feels empty without him, but soon he’s licking my wetness off of his fingers and then grabbing my clit again, claiming me, owning me with just his hand.

  “That feels so good,” I tell him, my mouth humming against his cock.

  Suddenly I’m grinding myself all over his hand, my juices spilling out into it as electricity takes over my entire body.

  “I’m coming,” I tell him, choking on his cock. “You’re making me come.”

  “Come for me while you suck my cock,” he commands, and I look up at him, gasping as I suck and come at the same time.

  I can feel his cock swell up bigger inside my mouth and I think he’s about to let go and come into it. He leans his head back and appears to abandon himself to the feeling of release undoubtedly washing over him.

  But just as I think he’s about to come, he grabs a hold of his cock and yanks it out of my mouth. He slaps it around on my face, but not too hard, as he looks down at me as if he wants to possess my body, heart and soul.

  “I’m going to fuck you,” he says, back to being his take-charge self, no longer almost talking about feeling weak.

  He moves me into a position in the middle of his bed where I’m on my hands and knees, animal-like for him. I wore a casual skirt to his house, and he lifts it up and pushes it to the side. He pulls my shirts off and yanks my other breast out of my bra, rather roughly and possessively.

  This time feels more urgent, more aggressive than last time. As if on cue, Nine Inch Nail’s “Closer” starts to play on his playlist.

  He yanks my panties to the side again and says, “There it is. There’s the naked pussy I’m going to fill up with my big cock and pound until it hurts. There’s my soft little sweet tight cunt.”

  He spreads my pussy open and plays with it a little bit again. He slaps it gently and then he slaps my ass, hard. He grabs my ass with his hands and squeezes.

  Then he holds onto my hips and enters me from behind. His large cock fills me to the brim right away. With one hand on my breast and one hand on my ass, he fucks me stronger and deeper than anyone ever has.

  “Whose pussy is this?” he asks, loudly and boldly, since no one is around to hear.

  “It’s yours,” I say, already feeling the wetness from my pussy dripping onto his cock. Already so close to coming. “It’s Ramsey’s.”

  “Whose pussy am I going to come in?” he asks.

  “Mine. My pussy.”

  “No, it’s my pussy,” he says, shoving his cock deep inside me, and causing my knees to tremble. “This is my naked, raw, soaking wet pussy.”

  “I’m coming,” I gasp, not holding back my moans.

  “Come on my cock. Come all over it.”

  He pulls my hair, gently yet firmly, and gives my ass a hard slap.

  Although I never would have imagined I’d like it so much, his hand smacking my ass gives me a bolt of pleasure that causes me to come all over again.

  “That feels so good,” I tell him. “Do it more.”

  “You like when I smack your perfectly round ass?” he asks, as he smacks it again, just a little harder.

  “Oh my god, I’m coming all over your big cock.”

  He thrusts in and out of me until I can feel him pulsing and bulging inside me.

  “Keep coming for me, Monica,” he says, as he grabs my ass and rams his cock into my pussy. “I’m going to come in you too.”

  He rides me hard from behind, reaching around to grab my clit. I didn’t think it was possible to feel any better, but as he plays with my clit while fucking me, I yell out, “Oh my God, I’m coming so much.”

  “That’s my girl,” he says, as I feel his cock about to explode inside me. “Come on my cock while I shoot my cum into your pussy.”

  And I feel him fill me up as I collapse my head into his pillow, writhing with pleasure.

  We’re both out of breath, panting hard.

  “That felt so fucking good,” he says, wrapping his arms around me while I lay my head on his strong, naked chest.

  “I’m glad we extended our Just One Night, two more times.”

  “We really are each other’s heroes,” he says, in a tone of voice that sounds distant and rather far away. “If only for just one weekend.”

  Chapter 14 – Ramsey

  I wake up to find Monica hurrying around, getting her things ready to go to the a
irport.

  “Morning, beautiful.”

  “Hey there,” she says, kissing me. She bends over from her standing position, since I’m still lying in bed.

  I grab hold of her and bring her closer to me, kissing her deeply. I immediately think of how hot last night was. How she let me get rough with her, and seemed to like it. How I felt like she was mine.

  She returns my kiss, but then continues scurrying around my room.

  “I gotta go, I’m going to be late.”

  “Then you’d miss your plane and we’d have to extend our Just One Weekend even more.”

  “Very funny,” she says.

  It’s not exactly the response I was hoping for.

  She pauses again, looking down at me with a smile.

  “Seems like you got a good night sleep,” she says. “No night terrors.”

  “Must have been the great sex,” I say, with a wink.

  “Or the massage, or the cuddles.”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “What am I ever gonna do without you?”

  “Somehow I think you’ll manage just fine,” she says.

  I throw on some clothes so that I can walk her to her car outside. I’m annoyed at myself for feeling disappointed at how our time together is ending. It has to end, and it didn’t mean anything, so what did I expect?

  As we head out of the house, I see that my mom is sleeping on the living room couch. I’m not sure when she got home, and I’m mad at her for scaring me by staying away for so long, but I’m glad she’s safe.

  At Monica’s car, I wrap my arms around her.

  “Have a safe flight back,” I say, bending down to kiss her forehead.

  It’s an almost paternalistic gesture, and I feel silly, but I also don’t want to be too forward, or put myself out there too much.

  She stands on her tiptoes and looks up at me for a real kiss. Good.

  I kiss her for a long, slow moment, savoring the last one I’ll have with her.

  “Goodbye, Ramsey,” she says. “Thanks for an amazing Just For One Weekend.”

  “Amazing indeed.”

  I walk back into the house, determined not to look back. But she gives a little beep of her horn, and I turn around and wave, feeling as giddy as a school kid.

  Well, that was that, I think, as I step back into the house.

  “Ramsey Bradford, what do you think you’re doing, forgetting all about your ole Ma to run around with that girl for three days straight?”

  My mom is standing up and walking over to me, if one could call it walking. More like staggering.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask her, annoyed.

  This is not what I need right now.

  “Gallivanting around town with your new lover instead of being here to take care of your mom.”

  I walk closer to her, but when we reach each other she throws up her arms as if she wants to hit me. I catch them, easily, in my hands. She reeks of alcohol.

  This was just like the time she came late to Harlow’s birthday party and showed up with some male friends when she did finally arrive. They tried to extend their own party into Harlow’s celebration, but were too drunk from their own partying to be able to stand up straight.

  I had to kick them out and tell her to never do that again. Not that she ever listened to me. Harlow was crushed but he tried to act strong, telling me he didn’t need our mom— he only needed me.

  “Mom, I wasn’t gallivanting anywhere,” I tell her now. “I had training, remember? I was on base. And where were you?”

  She glares at me, and it makes me sad to see confusion underneath her angry and empty stare— but I remember what Monica said— I need to think about what’s best for me. And Mom has made me really mad these past few days.

  “Go lay back down, Mom,” I say, walking her back over to the couch.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” she protests, but she flops back down onto the couch.

  “Mom, I want you to stay here and sober up. I’m not leaving today, so you’re not either. But things have got to change. Once you’ve come to your senses, we’re going to have a long talk.”

  “You can’t boss me around,” she says, glaring at me, but she quickly falls back asleep.

  I get her a glass of water from the kitchen and place it on the coffee table for when she wakes up. Then I text Jensen and Harlow.

  Found a place for Mom. Let’s meet later with her to let her know.

  I sigh before I send it, because I really didn’t think it would come to this. But what other choice do I have? I can’t keep track of Mom from Afghanistan. I can’t even do a very good job of keeping track of her in my own house.

  Her accusations about me gallivanting around town with my new girlfriend ring in my ears. Mom should know me better than that. Monica doesn’t live in this town. And, for better or worse, Monica isn’t my girlfriend.

  I don’t do girlfriends.

  I just have to remember to keep reminding myself of that, even though Monica is the closest I’ve ever come to falling for someone.

  Chapter 15 – Monica

  “So, how was your trip?” asks Susan, nearly as soon as I walk in the door.

  Her daughter— my four-year-old niece, Becky, smothers me with hugs.

  “Aunt Monica! You’re home! Play with me, play with me!”

  But Susan seems to be just as excited to see me. She was obviously very lonely while I was gone.

  I tickle Becky and then say, “Let me talk with Mommy for a while, then I’ll come up to your room and play with you.”

  I land a soft kiss on my baby nephew Mason Jr.’s forehead, as he sleeps comfortably in his mother’s arms.

  “Can we play princess tea party?” Becky asks.

  “Sure, Love. I may have brought you back something for that very purpose.”

  “Yay!” She jumps up and down in excitement. “A present! Can I have it? Can I have it! Where is it?”

  “Becky, be polite and wait for your aunt to give you your gift.”

  “Okay!” She skips upstairs to her room, saying, “I’ll set up the table and get our dresses out!”

  “So anyway,” Susan says. “How was your trip?”

  “It was great.”

  I must be smiling more than I thought I was, because she says, “What’s his name?”

  “What?”

  I try to feign innocence.

  “How did you…?” I start to ask her.

  “Because it’s written all over your face,” she says. “Monica Carrington, I haven’t seen you this happy since… well I don’t even know when.”

  “Well, don’t get your hopes up,” I tell her. “It was just a fling.”

  “Uh huh.”

  She arches her eyebrows and nods sarcastically.

  “I’m serious. It didn’t mean anything, and even if we wanted it to, it couldn’t. He’s… enlisted. And he’s deploying very soon.”

  “Awww, man.”

  Susan seems genuinely disappointed.

  “You don’t even know him!” I protest.

  “I know, but I wanted to live vicariously through you.”

  “Susan, you can still…”

  I pause. I don’t want to go into unpleasant topics right now, so soon after returning. My brother died nearly a year ago, before Mason was even born.

  I was going to say, “find love, find happiness again,” but we’ve been through all of this before. Susan is still young, and attractive when she takes care of herself, which she hasn’t done since my brother died.

  I want Susan to eventually move on and be happy, but she seems to think that her life ended when my brother’s did. I’m always urging her to date, or at least set up a Match.com profile, to go to classes or get a job or do something that will take her out of the four walls of this house.

  But she says she has no interest in dating. She met and married her true love and there can never be anyone else for her. And she seems to lack interest in any kind of career or even job. She was a stay at ho
me mom, and her whole world seemed to revolve around my brother.

  It’s another reason I don’t want to get too attached to anyone. I would hate to have to rely on anyone like that. But of course I never tell Susan this. She and I are just two totally different people. I love her, but I don’t always understand or agree with her choices.

  “…live vicariously through me,” I finish, changing my mind as to what I was going to say.

  “Well, then, out with it!” she says. “Spill the beans! Give me some gossip. All I had for entertainment during your absence were bad reality TV shows.”

  “All right, but you can’t tell anyone. You must be sworn to secrecy. Both he and I could get in trouble.”

  “Monica! Who am I going to tell? The only people I talk to aren’t even in school yet! And one of them can’t even talk, himself.”

  I laugh.

  “Well, his name’s Ramsey…”

  I fill her in on our Just For One Night pact, that turned into a Just For One Night and One Morning pact, and then a Just for One Weekend pact. I tell her about all the fun we had together and how sweet he was.

  “That’s awesome, Monica! I’m so happy for you.”

  “Yeah, it was a fun couple of nights, but it’s over now.”

  “Yeah right,” she says. “I wouldn’t be so sure…”

  “I told you, Susan. We had a pact. We promised. No commitment. No relationship. You know I’m not the type, and he certainly isn’t…”

  “You’re almost making me laugh, with this talk about some silly ‘pact,’” Susan says.

  I pout, my feelings hurt.

  “Don’t laugh at me!”

  “It’s just such a silly concept. And you don’t seem to be realizing the irony.”

  I stare at her, not comprehending what she means.

  “Maybe you two felt compelled to make a pact because you knew from the beginning that this was something special, and neither of you felt prepared to handle it,” she explains, as if I’m Becky’s age.

  I groan.

  “Susan. That’s not how it works.”

  “Oh, I know. Little Susan the naïve sister-in-law. She was only ever in love with one man. The poor little widow. She doesn’t know how men and women operate.”