by S. E. Hall
Who are the irrational ones again?
Clueless, he digs himself deeper. “So just quit that diner job and give yourself a break before starting the other one, because I have plans for us this weekend.” He’s all smile, ear to ear, probably waiting on me to start cooing and thanking him for his brilliance.
“What plans are those?” I ask in a flirty tone, offering up big, innocent eyes.
“I thought we’d go stay Saturday night in the house on some land my Uncle Evan owns. He’s got tons of back roads and wide open space for you to practice driving your new car.”
“Practice? It’s not a rocket; I think I got it.”
He diverts his eyes and reaffirms his hold on me before muttering, “Practice never hurts, babe. You’re probably just a little rusty is all, and besides, it’ll be fun to get away.”
He just said I was a shitty driver! On top of everything else I haven’t even begun to address, he thought he’d put that cherry on top of his “shitstorm coming your way” sundae?
I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
See, I was just planning on lecturing him, explaining all he did wrong, then forcing a Rom-Com on him as punishment. Now? It is so on. Jefferson Tate Kendrick will learn if it kills me…but I’d put good money on it killing him first.
“You may have a point,” (he doesn’t) I sugar-coat my voice. “Give me a minute and we’ll talk about it.”
I slowly climb off his lap, give him a quick kiss as if nothing’s wrong, and head down the hall to my bedroom.
I silently close the door and click the lock, tiptoeing over to my dresser. Why? I have no idea. It just feels like an “espionage on tiptoe” moment.
My reflection in the dresser mirror stares me down in mockery—she doesn’t think I have it in me to pull off my sinister plot twist—or my clothes.
I’ll show her. Indignation is one hell of a motivator, and hell hath no fury like a woman who just got called a bad driver.
Especially when she didn’t want the damn car in the first place!
Or the new apartment.
Or…no Bellamy, save the sermon for him.
With an extremely deep breath, and another, I turn my chagrin to courage and slide open the bottom drawer, rummaging in the very back until I find it.
Release the secret weapon.
I change quicker than I can lose my nerve, fluff my hair and open the door, soundlessly heading down the hall toward him.
“Don’t turn around,” I sternly command to his back. “Here’s how this is gonna work, Jefferson. In a second, I’m gonna come around where you can see me, and we’re going to discuss a few things, but you are not allowed to move or touch me with anything but your eyes. Understood?”
He grabs the arm of the couch with a white-knuckled grip. “Bellamy Jill Morgan,” he growls, smooth but intense, “I’m not agreeing to a goddamn thing, woman, and you’re lucky I’m still sitting here as it is. Are you standing behind me naked right now?” I swear I can hear the harsh grinding of his teeth as he asks.
Somehow he changed “naked” from a word into a gruff ripple of pure lust, sending tremors of the best sort coursing through me. No, not this time—I’m in control for once.
“How’d you know my middle name?” There, nothing sexy about that question, thus, getting us back on my track.
“Really?” He grits out impatiently, flexing that hand about to rip the arm off my couch. “Baby, I make a habit of knowing everything I want or need to. Told ya on our first date, I knew you a lot better than you thought I did. Now quit stalling before I hurdle this fucking couch and see for myself, up nice and close. Are. You. Naked?”
“No.”
His head drops to his chest and if I’m not mistaken, I think I hear a whimper. “Why do you hate me?”
There we go, ball’s back in my court. “I don’t hate you,” I smother a giggle, “but some of your behavior could use a little modification. Are you ready to agree to my previous terms?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumps, “no moving or touching. Got it.”
That’s what he thinks. How cute. Well, whatever he’s got…I betcha he’s about to lose it.
I move forward, skimming my fingertips along his arm as I gradually saunter past him, swaying my hips all the way to the chair across from him.
As I sit down, I grin to myself at the sharp hiss of air he sucks in slowly.
“Fuckkk,” he grates, shoving a hand back through his hair and shifting in his seat. “God damn, baby. I thought you said you didn’t hate me?”
“I don’t.” I force my brows to fold, as though confused…which I’m anything but. “What do you mean?”
“That,” he motions a finger up and down my ensemble and gulps, “is sexier, and more torturous, than if you were naked. That, I could take my time peeling off, learning every inch of you, thoroughly, before moving to the next.”
Dear God that was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. I wanna jump him, let him do all that to me and more…but I somehow, miraculously, hold strong. Eye on the end goal, Bellamy.
It’s so hard though. I’ve never felt more empowered in my life. And not in a dirty, cheap way either. While there’s no denying the carnal lust in his eyes, which he literally cannot peel off me, wearing the white lingerie set he bought me…there’s also adoration. I feel wanted for sure, but even more so, I feel womanly.
The baby doll top is being tested to its limits to contain my breasts and the sheer lace material clearly boasts their shape, size and color of my nipples. And the matching boy-cut panties ride up high on my ass cheeks while also answering any questions he may have had about my grooming habits.
“So you like?” I facetiously purr.
“I fucking love, Bellamy. Please baby, I gotta touch you. Come ‘ere.” He beckons me with his sexy, finger crook specialty and it takes willpower I didn’t know I had to resist.
“Not yet.” I slowly shake my head and blow him a full-lipped, drawn-out kiss. “If you lie, or break any of the rules, we stop. Ready?”
“Hell yes,” he rumbles, adjusting his very intriguing erection. I definitely need to know more about that.
Thirty
JT
GOING TO FUCKING attack her. In the nicest way possible of course, but attack nonetheless.
She expects me to sit still, way over here, when I could be on her in one move? Sliding my tongue over the firm swells about to topple out of her top. Inching those little panties down her long, smooth legs to sink my face into her sweet, bare pussy.
Yeah, this isn’t gonna work for me. My baby’s smokin’ hot body is barely hidden, a few teasing strips of lace the only things standing between me and fucking nirvana. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t show her, Right. Now. How good I can make her feel?
And what has gotten into her? My sweet, shy, virginal Bellamy has gone all wildcat on me…not that I’m complaining, just wondering is all.
She knows I’m looking my fill; her cheeks flushed a beautiful, innocent pink, her chest rising and falling with her shallow breaths. God, I want her. Want to devour every single part of her, slowly the first time—memorizing all the trembles, whimpers and soft moans I know she’ll give me. Then start over, like a fucking savage—biting, sucking and tasting until she begs me inside her, never to leave.
I hear my own deep, frenzied breaths as I adjust my rock-hard cock, threatening to bust out of my zipper. Feeling the leak of pre-cum, the deep, pulling ache in my balls.
“Jefferson,” she purrs my name, uncrossing her legs only to sexily cross them again. “I see I have your undivided attention, so there’s a few things we need to discuss.”
“Do I want to eat you out? Yes.”
She gasps, as though offended, but the sheer lace betrays her, showcasing her nipples that harden into sharp little points, begging for my mouth.
Her lids droop lazily and a desire, need, matching my own shapes her raspy voice. “No, and don’t be so vulgar. We already talked about lying, so we wo
n’t rehash that. We will, however, move on to other behaviors that need rectified. I believe in positive reinforcement and since you speak Mars and I speak Venus, we’re gonna learn to meet in the middle and speak Earth. Thus, my risqué ensemble.”
“I don’t care if we talk in Neptunish, so long as you keep wearing it. Or let me take it off you,” I practically howl, nearing my breaking point.
“The car,” she breezes right over my reasonable request and states in a no-nonsense voice. “I didn’t want it, and don’t feel comfortable having it forced upon me. Jefferson, what you need to learn is how to harness your protective, alpha instinct in a way that makes me want what you want. It’s called finesse. The fine line between turning me on so much that I can’t wait to make you happy and pissing me off so bad I want to slap you, again. Now, tell me what would be a better way to approach that type of thing next time.”
She brushes her long, auburn locks behind her shoulders, giving me an unencumbered view of her chest and beautiful, mouthwatering cleavage. And I’m supposed to think?
“Baby,” I try not to whine like a virgin with the tip already in, “I don’t know the answer. Help me out here, I’m dying.”
“Why did you insist on the car?” She may be trying to pull off “emboldened,” but her hand trembles as she lowers one thin strap of her top a few inches off her shoulder, baring just a hint of one swollen, dark pink areola. I groan in actual pain, shifting again to give my swelling cock some room to suffer.
“Because I care about you, very much, and the thought of your long bus rides with God only knows how many horny, ill-mannered men makes me crazy. With a car, you can sleep in, sit down and have a decent breakfast, toss your books in the backseat and give us more time to spend together. Time we currently spend chasing each other around town because of bus schedules, my job and miscommunication.”
“That’s what you should have said, discussed with me before pulling into the dealership. Do you see the difference?”
“I see part of your nipple.” I scoot to the edge of the couch.
She shakes her head with an exasperated tsk and no, God, no…pulls the strap back up.
“Okay, I get it! Pull it back down, baby.”
“Try it. Pretend it’s yesterday and talk to me about your car idea.” She grins, thriving on my torture.
Any thought I’ve ever had about luring Bellamy out of her shell, building her comfort level to be physical with me…this is not what I had in mind. Leave it to my feisty lil’ woman to switch up the plans on me.
I begin to recite the same speech I just gave her, inserting a “please,” “whatever you want,” and “totally up to you” as often as I can. When I’ve said all I can possibly think of in a deep, sexy voice, I wait.
“Very good, babe. Remember that though next time you get some crazy idea on rearranging my life or bossing me into something. I don’t want lip service. I want mutual respect, and sexy assertion that I can’t resist, even when I’m clothed.” She dazzles me with a disarming smile…and lowers the left strap all the way down.
Fucking beautiful. Real, round, high, firm and topped with a rosy nipple of the perfect size. My chest vibrates with my approving rumble, my lips and fingers both twitching for a sample.
“Bellamy,” I warn her, feral and untamed, scooting closer, the very edge of the couch quickly disappearing.
“Stay put, Jefferson. I mean it. We’re not done. I’ll be paying the sales tax and the fee to register the car. And if things between us don’t work out, I’ll be giving it back.”
Precious. But wrong. So wrong. “The sales tax was paid as part of the deal. If paying to register it makes you happy, fine. As for the other,” I slowly inhale, weighing the consequences, and decide to go on, “I don’t want to think about us not working out.”
“I don’t either,” she smiles sweetly. Glad she agrees because not working out simply isn’t an option. “You’re quite the quick study, Jefferson.” Her hooded, jade eyes hold my gaze prisoner as she slips the right strap down over the tan slope of her shoulder. Her whole, gorgeous chest is bared to me now, skin flushing under my unwavering, lascivious stare.
My girl is stacked. If I wasn’t a “boob guy” before…I sure as hell am now.
“Baby, damn. I have to touch you,” I growl, starting to rise.
“Sit,” she snaps, cowering into the corner of the chair. “Next. Tell me how it is that you came to know the pay, employee discount and background of Another Woman’s Treasure and its owner.”
“I…um…”
She’d make an excellent POW interrogator; no man wouldn’t sing like a bird for her. Especially when she throws her leg over the arm of the chair, splaying her untouched core open for my viewing pleasure. And like a captive, sweat beads on my forehead, my mouth goes dry and I flex my fingers in and out while trying to keep my wits about me.
But it doesn’t work—I am a weak, weak man. At Bellamy’s mercy. Thoughts of ravaging her spiral through my mind, labored breaths flare my nostrils and my dick twitches in protest against its barrier. Absolutely. Killing. Me. The transparent fabric she’s wearing might as well not even be there. I can see the little damp spot in the center of her panties and swollen, plump lips, and all flesh, free of any hair from here.
Mine. And what’s mine, I should be able to touch.
“Jefferson,” it’s a breathy plea more so than my name, “I asked you a question.”
I push both hands through my hair, tugging hard in hopes of some pain overshadowing the carnal craving I fear I’m about to lose my grip on, and seriously debate shamefully groveling for mercy. “Enough games! You want me between those thighs just as badly as I want to be there. I can smell your need from here, so let me make you feel good, baby. I learned my lesson, now let me teach you a few.”
“How. Did. You. Find. Out?” she enunciates slowly, lowering her leg.
“Swear to God,” I snarl, “you close your legs and I’m coming over there, woman. Show me that sweet pussy and I’ll answer. Tease,” I mumble under my breath.
She obeys, exposing herself for me again, but this time with an impatient scowl.
I hone in on the growing wet spot at her center and gush out my explanation. “I had my secretary call and act interested in the job, then run background and Better Bureau checks.”
“And what should you have done?” she speaks in silky sensuality, moving her other leg as though about to throw it up over the other arm of the chair…but not quite getting it there.
“I should’ve,” I reach a hand behind my neck and yank my shirt off, “asked you those things,” I flip open the top button of my fly, “and if you’d mind if I ran checks.” Boots toed off. “To ensure your safety. Because no matter how mad you get or what I might forget to say or ask first, I will keep you safe.”
She doesn’t seem to have words, too busy licking her lips and squirming in her seat as she traces every inch of my chest with her molten stare.
“Ready for me?” I prompt lowly.
She shakes her head, and her daze away, to lift her eyes to mine. “Last issue.” One dainty hand trails down slowly between her breasts, over her stomach, stopping on the inside of her thigh. “What do you think of my driving?”
Well, fuck. Doesn’t matter that my dick’s hard enough to crush metal…I know I won’t be able to pull off even a semblance of a lie on this one. Tricky lil’ vixen she is, and I have to play along. I have no other choice. Because while she torments me, tests me at every turn, I now know for certain—I won’t be happy with anyone other than my Bellamy.
“Let me touch you, just once, and I’ll tell you.” I hope I sound demanding, instead of the desperate I feel.
“Tell me, and maybe I’ll touch you,” she counters in smoky, melodic sin.
She touches me and I’m damn sure touching her back—everywhere. I’m too delirious at the possibility to leave any room for sensibility…and answer her.
Dumbfuck. Need to kick my own ass later.
&n
bsp; “Baby, I know it’s been awhile since you’ve driven.” I hedge closer, wrapping a hand around her smooth, tiny ankle and tugging her forward. “So a little refresher course couldn’t hurt.”
Her hand moves down and in, fingertips tracing the edge of her panties and a soft moan fills the room. “So you do think I’m a bad driver?”
“Slide ‘em to the side, baby. Let me see,” I groan, eyes locked on nirvana.
And then, my girl shocks me. Throat closing, heart pounding, dick seeping shocks me. “Jefferson, I’m aching. I’m wet and throbbing. I need you to touch me so bad. Please, answer me and then come over here and put me out of my misery.”
The. Dam. Breaks.
“Yes, you suck something awful. You’re gonna get yourself or someone else killed. Stop signs are there for a reason! You only get one lane. And blinkers? Use them! And what the fuck are you doing with your brakes, tapping out the rhythm to a song on the radio?”
There, I answered her…so accordingly, I move to my knees—right between her thighs. I dip my head, inhaling her innocent, musky scent, brushing my nose along the seam between panties and paradise.
Only to have my head shoved away, holding in my crazed roar/whimper as she yanks her top back over her glorious breasts and snaps her thighs closed.
“Harsh, much?” she hisses, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at me.
I grab two handfuls of my hair and groan. “Baby, you asked. I answered. What do you want from me?”
“I told you! I’m not doing this to be mean, Jefferson. I’m-”
“Are you sure about that?” I interrupt in a deadly tone of tormented. “Feels pretty fucking mean.”
“You know how men bring a woman flowers, jewelry, or a new book when they’ve screwed up? They appeal to her language so she hears their apology. Same thing,” she shrugs casually, as though my dick isn’t in peril. “I’m trying to rewire the way you do things for me by speaking your language—sex. And I’m telling you, straight up, that I’m doing it, so no games, no manipulation. Next time you think about strong-arming me, maybe, hopefully, you’ll picture me as I am now…and adjust.”
