by T L Swan
“You were dancing with other men. I had every right to get annoyed.”
I screw up my face and spit the water back into the sink before rinsing and putting my toothbrush away. “Shut up, Brock.” I shake my head as I walk back into my bathroom. “We’re not together, and it’s too late for this shit. I’m going to bed.”
He stands and watches me for a moment, clearly confused.
“Turn around,” I tell him.
“What for?”
“Because I’m putting my pyjamas on.” I huff.
“I’ve seen you naked.”
“Not when you’re in time out, you haven’t.”
His face falls for just a second until a small smirk creeps into place. “You’re putting me in time out?”
I nod. “Uh-huh. Turn around.”
He turns his back to me, and I smile and throw my pyjamas over my head.
“For the record,” he says with his back to me. “I decide who is in time out around here.”
“No, you don’t. I’m the boss of us,” I reply calmly.
“What?” His head snaps around, and he looks over his shoulder.
“Turn around.”
“You are not the fucking boss of us, Tully. I’m the boss of us.”
“Nope.” I go to the linen press and take out two blankets. “You are the boss when it comes to the sex between us. You’re the…” I narrow my eyes as I think of the right terminology. “You’re the operations manager. Physical contact is the operations.”
He screws up his face. “And what the hell are you?”
“I’m the general manager.” I smile sweetly. “So, basically, I’m the boss around here, and if you don’t like it, I don’t care.”
I shove the two blankets into his hands.
“What’s this?” He frowns as he looks down at them in his hands.
“Your blankets. You’re on the sofa.”
“What?” He’s outraged that I would even suggest such a thing. “I’m not sleeping on the fucking lounge.”
“Okay. Don’t. Go home.”
He glares at me.
My eyes hold his. “Sleep on the sofa, take your time out like an adult, and tomorrow morning you can take me out for breakfast where, just maybe, we can have a civilised conversation without arguing.”
He narrows his eyes. “I’m not sleeping on the fucking lounge, Tully.”
“Okay.” I smile. It really is fun being a bitch to him. This could be my new hobby. “I’m going to bed. Lock up when you leave.”
“What?” He laughs without humour. “You’re not fucking going to bed.”
I climb into bed and turn the light off.
“As the operation’s manager, I have not signed you off your shift yet. You still have work to do. Hours and hours of hard labour.”
I smile into my pillow at him playing along with me.
“You don’t have any managerial powers today. Time out overrules any operation management. Get on the sofa.”
“You’re fucking unbelievable,“ he mutters under his breath as he walks back into the living room.
I smile into my pillow again.
“Never once, in my entire life, have I been told to sleep on the lounge,” he mutters in disgust. I can hear him pacing back and forth as he decides what to do. “I’m going home.”
“That’s a pity,” I call. “I’ll miss you at breakfast. I wanted to go to the beach, too.”
“The carrot your dangling isn’t that tempting. I can get eggs and sunshine anywhere,” he calls, but I can tell he’s spreading out the blankets on the lounge.
“Okay.” I smile. “I might need my sunscreen rubbed in, that’s all, but it’s okay. I’ll get someone else to do it.”
“Fuck, Tully!” he snaps. “I swear to God, you are pissing me off big time. Stop threatening me.”
I giggle into my pillow. Big dope.
“Good night, Captain Cranky Pants,” I call.
There’s silence for a while. I hear the lock on the front door click and then the creak of the lounge as he lies down. I smile again. Did I just win that fight?
“Goodnight, wench.” He finally tuts.
I giggle and pull my blankets up to snuggle in.
I hear him groan. “This lounge is harder than the fucking floor.”
“Sleep on the floor then,” I call back. “I’m glad it will be softer for you.” I giggle as I imagine him on the cold, hard floor. “I like how you’re thinking outside the box with your problem solving.” I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud. “Keep this up and you might be in for a promotion.”
“Fuck off,” he mutters into his pillow, and I hear him punch it three times.
I smile broadly and close my eyes.
Disciplining Brock Marx could be fun.
I wake to the sunshine streaming through my bedroom windows. I must have forgotten to close my drapes last night. I inhale deeply, roll over, and I begin to doze back off.
Hang on. My eyes snap open. Is Brock here?
I sit up in a rush and listen. I can’t hear anything.
I quietly climb out of bed and sneak into the living room. My eyes widen at the sight in front of me.
Holy mother of fuck.
Brock is lying on his back wearing only his little black boxer briefs. His blankets are thrown on the floor along with his clothes. One hand is up behind his head, the other down his pants as he holds his dick. His legs are spread wide and he is sleeping like a baby. My eyes roam over the perfect specimen. What the hell? I didn’t know men who looked like this actually existed.
He’s huge, buff, and looks like some kind of stripper that you would pay anything to see. His stomach is a mass of ripples, and he has a scattering of dark hair on his chest as well as a small trail that runs from his navel, disappearing into his briefs. His dark eyelashes flutter, and his big pouty lips make me want to bend down and kiss them.
I watch him for a moment, how do I handle this?
The horn bag in me wants to straddle him and ride him ‘til dusk. The prude in me wants to sit down and talk sensibly with him about his appalling behaviour.
The bitch in me wants to fight him.
But it’s all of me who wants to spend time with him today. Like a puzzle I need to complete, I just want to know what makes him tick.
As I watch him, my mind goes to Simon. I frown to myself, wondering what he’s doing now and who he’s doing it with.
I used to always think we were soul mates, but maybe we were just young and naïve. It makes me sad to think that we may have lost what we had. He’s due back in a couple of months, and the last time I spoke to him he said he was moving in with me. To be honest, I don’t even know what I want anymore. I don’t think he does, either. But we have to try; we said we would.
Is it fair to Brock to start something when I know it already has an expiry date?
His dark hair hangs over his face, and he licks his lips and strokes his dick in his sleep. I smile. Brock is not the kind of guy that I would ever end up with, anyway, and he’ll probably be on his bike searching for his next plaything before the week is out. I’m worrying for nothing.
Why do I always have to overthink everything? Just take it for what it is: a bit of fun.
A bit of fun with a really hot guy who is the polar opposite of Simon.
I would be an idiot not to have some fun with him while I still can.
I go to the bathroom and use the toilet, contemplating the choices in front of me. I can either:
A) Ask Brock to leave and regret it for all of eternity.
B) Fuck his brains out and feel like a dirty slut again.
C) Spend some time with him, lay out a few ground rules, and see how
he handles it.
He may not want to take the time to get to know me, but I suppose all I can do is ask.
I wash my hands and brush my teeth.
If I fuck him, he will leave, and I will probably never see him again.
But isn’t that
what you want?
If I ask him to leave before I fuck him, I will be kicking myself tonight. And he was right, my vibrator could never replace what he could give me.
I really only have one choice. Spend the day with him, set out some ground rules, and perhaps build a friendship so that we can have a week of casual sex without me feeling like a wayward nun.
Then we part our ways as friends. Voila! Problem solved.
I get my bad boy fix, and then I go back to Simon and live happily ever after. I smile at my reflection in the mirror as I fix my hair.
Girl, you’re a genius.
I walk out into the living room to see Brock stirring. He stretches as he opens his eyes and sees me, his smile slow and lazy. “Good morning, Pocket.” His voice is husky and sexy.
Damn. Maybe we could skip the getting to know each other part and get straight down to business.
No! Play it cool.
“Good morning.” I smile.
He sits up, resting on his elbows, and my eyes drift to his bare chest and strong shoulders. His olive skin has a golden tan to it.
“Sleep well?” I ask.
He frowns and lies back down. “No.”
I smile. “I slept like a baby.”
“I bet you did,” he mutters dryly. I sit down on the bottom of his lounge, and he lifts his legs to put them onto my lap.
“Where are you taking me for breakfast, Tully Pocket?” He yawns.
I rest my hands on his bare feet. “I know just the place.”
“Or we could just skip breakfast and go straight to the sunscreen part.” He raises his eyebrow in question.
I giggle. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I would, actually.”
“Nope. I’m going to take a shower, and then I’ll take you to my favourite café. The coffee is so good.”
He rolls his eyes, draping his forearm over his eyes. “Is this like a date?” he mutters flatly.
“Yes, so I expect you to be witty and charming,” I tell him as I stand. “Maybe even romantic.”
“It’s too early for that shit. And I don’t do romantic. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I don’t bark. I’m going to have a shower now.” I make my way to the linen press to grab a towel. “You are not welcome to come in.”
“I can’t, anyway. My back is fucked. I’ll be lucky to walk again today.”
I giggle, make my way into the bathroom, and step into the shower. My stay trained on the door. I don’t have a lock. What would I do if he walked in right now? Would he? I wouldn’t put it past him.
Stop it.
I quickly wash myself and get out in a rush. After drying myself, I walk into my bedroom in a towel to find him lying in the same position with his eyes closed. Poor bastard. He really did sleep poorly. He’s exhausted.
Now, what should I wear?
I put on my black crochet bikini. Lucky for me, I bought this baby as a just in case I need to be sexy incident. I throw on a short summer dress that’s flowy and white, pulling it over the top of my bikini. I pull my long hair into a high ponytail. When I finally walk out of my room, Brock is gone, and I walk up the hall to investigate.
He’s urinating, the bathroom door is wide open. He looks up casually.
I gasp. “Close the door will you.”
“Why? It’s just pissing. Everyone pisses.”
“You’re an animal,” I say with a shake of my head as I turn and walk back into the living room.
Simon never went to the bathroom in front of me in nine years. These two men are like chalk and cheese.
“You can come in and hold it for me if you want?” Brock calls out.
“No. I’m good thanks.” I smirk.
Idiot.
I hear the tap turn on as he washes his hands, and then he reappears, wearing only his black briefs. I have to concentrate not to stare.
“We have to call in at my place to get some clothes,” he says as he rubs his eyes.
He really is a beautiful looking man.
“Okay.”
I sit on the sofa and watch as he grabs his jeans and steps into them. He slowly slides the zipper up. It’s hard not to jump up and drag his jeans back off with my teeth.
He then throws his T-shirt over his head, picks up the blankets, and carefully places the cushions back onto the sofa.
“I wish I could say I had a hard night in a good way,” he says dryly.
I smirk.
“But I had a hard night in the worst possible way.” He pretends to kick my sofa. “You piece of shit,” he says to it.
I laugh.
“You ready?” he asks.
I throw my towel and sunscreen into my beach bag. “Yep. I’ll just grab my book.”
“You won’t be needing that. I’m very entertaining. Let’s go.”
We walk out into the hall and he takes my hand in his. I look up at him in question.
“I did my time out.” He eyes me as he strides forward confidently.
I smile and squeeze his hand in mine. “Like a good boy.”
“Don’t push it.” He squeezes my hand back. “Or I’ll show you how good of a boy I’m actually not.”
We get downstairs and walk out across the road. “Where’s your car?” I ask.
“Around the corner.”
We turn the corner and I see his large black Range Rover. Lights flash as he opens it.
“Nice car.” I smile as I get in.
“Yeah, it’s just a car.” He starts the engine. “Where are we going for breakfast?”
“There’s a little café a few blocks from here. Where is your house?” I ask.
“Surry Hills.”
“Oh, that’s close. Just a few blocks away.”
“Yeah, I know. I moved here when I found out where you lived so I could watch you round the clock.”
I frown at him, and he smiles cheekily, flashing me a wink.
“See, the creepy thing is, I have no idea if you are joking or not.”
He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “I’ve lived here for two years.”
“Oh.” I feel embarrassed that I just said that out loud.
He casually puts my hand back down to rest on his thigh. I can feel his tight thigh muscle through his jeans, and my arousal awakens. I blow out a breath as I concentrate on not trailing my hand up to his crotch and back over his heavenly, thick thighs.
Cut it out, you sex-craved animal.
We drive for a few minutes and then pull up out the front of a row of swanky terrace houses. “You live here?” I ask.
“Uh-huh.” He parks the car and gets out.
I frown as I stare at the terrace house in front of me. It’s painted a dark charcoal colour with contrasting white shutters. There’s a beautifully kept garden with brass numbers on the gate.
It looks like something out of a home magazine. It’s not where I would expect a bad tempered stripper to live.
39
Wow. I didn’t expect this.
He opens the large, timber door, and my mouth drops open. Holy shit, it’s gorgeous. “This is really your house?” I whisper, suddenly feeling embarrassed about the shitty sofa I made him sleep on last night.
“Yeah, I bought it about two years ago. I’ve been renovating ever since.”
He holds his hand out for me to take, and I do. The living room is large, the floors all dark timber and polished. There is a stone fireplace with a big antique rug in front of it, running against the wall. We walk through the living room to a bright, sunny, all-glass style kitchen and dining room.
“Holy shit, Brock, this is amazing.”
“Come upstairs, I’ll show you the rest.”
I smile as I see his pride shine through.
We walk up to the second level and it opens to a large living room with another blue stone open fireplace. Big cushions decorate the floor, with a big leather comfy-looking sofa sitting in the middle. There’s a huge television, too, and I get
the feeling this is where he spends a lot of time. He takes me up another set of stairs where the whole top floor is his bedroom.
The walls look like recycled brickwork that have bits of white paint on them. The bed is a king-size, with black velvet coverings. The carpet and furnishings up here are luxurious.
“I just put a bathroom in.” He opens the door to show me a beautiful beige marble tile bathroom with a huge stone bath sitting in the centre.
“J-Jesus,” I stammer. “What are you, like, a decorator or something?”
He smiles proudly. “Look at this.” He pulls back a curtain at the side of his bedroom, and I see the whole wall has been removed into the terrace next door.
“I just bought the terrace next door. I’m going to join the two together.”
My eyes widen.
“Bottom level will be kitchen and living area, and then the two top levels next door will be bedrooms.”
He takes my hand and leads me through to the other terrace. I smile to myself, watching him get all animated as he shows me through the dingy apartment.
“Was yours in this state when you bought it?” I ask.
“Mine was worse. I had to basically gut it.”
“You did all this yourself?”
“Yeah, my sisters helped with the styling and furnishings.”
This is the third time he has mentioned his sisters. “You’re close with your sisters?” I ask.
He smiles softly, and I know they get the best of him. “Yeah, they’re pretty cool chicks.”
I narrow my eyes as I try to remember their story. “Did you say they were married?” All I remember about them was that they were very attractive and married to holy hot men.
“Yeah, Natasha, my older sister, is married to a super-rich dude. His name is Joshua Stanton, and they live between here and L.A. Bridget, my younger sister, is married to one of my best friends. He works for me. You met him. Ben, the guy from the gym.”
“I remember. How did it feel when your younger sister hooked up with one of your best friends?”
“I met him through her.” He shrugs. “Well, not really, He was Natasha’s husband’s bodyguard.”
I frown. “Joshua has bodyguards?”
“Yeah. They are, like, mega rich. Millionaires. He’s an app developer.”
