Those Boys Are Trouble

by Willow Winters

  I open my eyes when I hear the sexiest groan I’ve ever heard and feel his hot cum on my breasts. I watch as waves splash against my breasts and it gives me the deepest satisfaction. I smile shyly and calm my breathing. I did this to him.

  I open my eyes and see her cute little smirk. “Lick it clean, sweetheart.” My dick’s still hard as her tongue darts out to lap up the bit of sticky cum left on my dick. She sits back on her heels, far more relaxed than she was before, and then she reaches for her clothes. I frown, and my heart drops a little in my chest. She’s ready to leave? Already?

  I feel a little sick knowing he’s gonna want me out of here now that our little fling is over. Only a little though. That’s what I’m telling myself, at least. I feel so dirty, but I love it. I watch in my periphery as he leans over the desk and then hands me some tissues to wipe off my chest. I give him a tight smile and quickly clean myself off. I want it again, but I don’t think he’s the type of guy that sticks with one girl. And I’m not going to give myself to someone who isn’t going to want me after. I don’t know what I was thinking. Regret starts to consume me, but I shake it off. I wanted this. I got exactly what I wanted.

  “You got a lot of studying to do?” I ask, as I pull up my boxers and jeans. I know she’s in a rush to get out, but I’ll at least stay with her while she’s out there. I’m sure they know we were back here fooling around, but I want them to give her the respect she deserves. I’m not gonna leave her for them to stare down and judge.

  No way I’m staying here. I spot my bag sitting next to the door. I’ll just sneak out the back. I shake my head at his question. “I’m pretty tired. I’m just gonna head home.” The high I felt just moments ago is already waning, and I’m feeling more and more uncomfortable as I stand and adjust my shorts. I have no clue where my panties are. Not that it really matters since he destroyed them.

  My eyes close as the denim push against my sensitive clit. Damn, I want him again. I want him inside of me. But not like this. I’m not going to lose my virginity like this. Not to someone I don’t even know. The thought makes my gaze drop to the floor, and I try to swallow the shame creeping up on me.

  Shit, I can see the regret. I don’t fucking want that. I wanna see this girl again. I need to have her cumming on my dick. I barely got a taste of her. “I’ll drive you home, sweetheart.”

  I bite my bottom lip and grip the straps of my tote. I put it on my shoulder and nod. I wince as the straps bite down on my tender skin. Fucking hell, why’d I pack so damn much and walk the entire way here? He’s quick to reach out and take it from me. It’s a sweet gesture, and I don’t expect it. I assume he’s hoping to get into my pants when he drops me off. That sure as shit is not going to happen. I think about what’s waiting for me at home and get all pissed off. I can’t fucking believe how shitty my life has become. The reminder makes me close my eyes, and I try to will away the anger.

  I don’t like wherever her head has gone. Gently, I place my hand on her shoulder and squeeze slightly. “Stop it, Elle.” Her eyes shoot up at me with daggers as she shoves my hand away.

  “Just because we just did that,” I say with anger as I motion to the desk, “does not mean that you have any right to tell me what to do.” Immediately I regret my outburst. It’s not his fault. Shit. I ruined this. Whatever this is. Was. Whatever, it’s over with now.

  What the fuck has gotten into her? I have half a mind to throw her ass on the desk and fuck that snarky attitude right out of her. I know just how to do it, too. Deep and slow. I’d fucking torture the orgasms from her until she quits being like this. So damn defensive.

  This was such a fucking mistake. I swing the door open and walk out as quickly as I can, leaving him behind. I keep walking, past the opening for the dining room of the bistro and straight ahead. There’s got to be a door to get the fuck out of here where no one will see me. I twist the knob to what I think will be an exit and push the heavy door open.

  I finally get a grip and go after her, determined to have her smart little mouth wrapped around my cock again. I take one step out of the office and bolt after her. Not that room! What the fuck is she doing?

  Holy fuck! I gasp as my eyes widen at what I'm seeing, and instinctively take a step backwards, but my back hits a brick wall of muscle. Strong arms wrap around my waist and face, and a hand covers my mouth to mute the scream that’s ripped from my throat.

  God damn it. I can’t believe this is happening. I hold her tight to me as she struggles in my grasp. I can’t fucking believe she walked back here. Tommy and Anthony are staring back at me with looks of outrage.

  I try to scream. I try to pull away. I need to do something, anything. Tears burn my eyes and my body heats, then goes numb with fear. Fuck! It’s useless. He won’t let me go. “Please!” I try to scream, but his hand stays clamped over my mouth. Tears fall helplessly down my heated cheeks as my body racks with sobs.

  I wish I could let her go, but if I do, I know the family will have to get rid of her.

  If he’d just let me go, I wouldn’t say anything.

  She’d swear up and down not to talk, but it wouldn’t be enough.

  I’ll plead with him, he has to believe me. I try to speak, but his hand pushes harder against my lips.

  I wish I could believe her, but there’s no way I can risk it. I tilt my head to the door, letting them know I’m taking her away.

  My feet drag and stumble as he pulls me back into the office. I’ll offer him anything. There has to be some way to convince him.

  She hardly struggles against me as I close the door. I don’t think there’s any way I could convince the familia to let her go. Maybe there’s a way.

  I’m going to have to keep her until they’re convinced.

  She’s my hostage now.

  Elle

  Earlier that day…

  I shift my weight and groan. This bag is freaking killing my shoulder. I don’t know why I packed so many textbooks. I shoved all three in to my bag along with my laptop before I took off. Barely 15 minutes later, the straps are digging into my skin, making it feel raw and destroying my resolve to study. Part of me just wants to drop the bag and go to a bar. I’m so fucking pissed off. I shake off the bitter resentment and walk a little faster. I shouldn’t have brought so much grad work. It’s not like I’m in any mood to do it anyway. Not after fighting with my mother again.

  I wish I didn’t have to pay her fucking bills, so I could move back to my shitty little apartment. Her poor decisions keep fucking me over. I can’t afford to live anywhere but with her now. Why the hell did she get a mortgage? Did she have to fuck me over like that? She had to know she couldn’t afford it. I told her not to do it. I knew this would happen. And now I’m stuck here helping her ass out again, while she gets sober … again.

  I’m tired of sacrificing everything for her, but I just can’t say no. I can’t abandon her. Even if it’s draining the life out of me. I’m just lucky I was able to transfer to a local university so I could move back in with her. I need to get my shit together so I don’t fail. Playing catch-up is a bitch though. And I’m struggling to find the motivation.

  I leave for not even three months and she ups and moves for some loser she met online. And then buys a house for both of them. I shake my head and bite the inside of my cheek while tears burn my eyes. I won’t cry again. I push them back and concentrate on the anger. Mom has so many problems. It’s fucked up.

  I don’t care that she thinks he’s going to change and pay her back all the money that he squandered. It’s not fucking acceptable. I don’t trust this guy, just like I didn’t trust the last, but does she listen to me? No. Not unless I’m rattling off my bank account number.

  I know I saw a little place down the street on the way in that looked like a good spot to park my ass and attempt to relax. I just need to get out of that house so I can study without being so pissed. I groan and swing the tote over my shoulder to try to ease the pressure of the weight. After a few minutes of
walking I calm down and smirk, remembering what bag I picked for today. The text on the tote reads, “My book club only reads wine labels.” A smile grows on my face and I can’t help it. I may have a completely new life now, a really shitty one, but at least I still have my old sense of humor.

  After a few minutes I nearly consider turning back to get my car, but then I pick up the pace remembering that asshole is still there. She'd better kick his ass out. I told her I’m not going to help out financially if he’s there. My fists clench harder as a long, strangled breath leaves me. Her words ring in my ear. “But you’re on the mortgage!” She’s such a bitch. And technically, a criminal for forging my name. But am I going to do anything about it? Nope. I always keep my mouth shut and do what’s best. At least what’s best for others. I don’t even know what’s best for me anymore.

  I clench my jaw, and feel anger rising inside of me. It's not fucking right to be angry at her. Or is it? I just wish she were more responsible. I wish she weren’t a fucking alcoholic. Why do I feel so remorseful for hating that she puts me through this? More than anything else, I feel guilty, like her being so unhappy is all my fault.

  The place I saw on the drive to the house, Valetti’s Italian Bistro, is just another block away. Hopefully they’ll have some booth in the back that’s empty. And alcohol. I could really use a drink. It’s a little late for dinner, so maybe it’ll be deserted and I can get my studying done in peace. I walk up the brick paved walkway and admire how rustic the place looks before opening the front door. This entire area has a small-town feel. I like it.

  I’d like it more if I wasn’t forced to be here though. As soon as I’m done with graduate school, I’m gone. I’ll give Mom an allowance, maybe, and leave to find a place like this that isn’t tainted. A nice, small town with family-owned restaurants just like this. I smile and let out an easy sigh. Everything’s going to be alright. I just have to push through everything and work a little harder. And figure out a way to stop being a freaking enabler.

  I take a quick glance around the place. It’s dark for a restaurant, with a few dim lights placed symmetrically around the dining area. The walls are a soft cream, and the chairs and booths are a deep red. It’s just my style. A little grin forms on my face as I spot an empty booth in the back on the right. It’s directly across from another booth in the narrow room, almost like they belong to each other, but there’s an obvious separation. I take quick strides to claim it.

  I scoot into the seat and let the back of my tote hit the cushion before sliding the straps off my arm. Holy hell, that feels so much better. I rub my shoulder and look down to see two angry red marks from the straps. My lips purse. Next time I’m just bringing the laptop and my notes. And my car.

  I lick my lips and pull out my laptop to bring up the syllabus. I downloaded it before I left, but I’m hoping this place has Wi-Fi. I breathe in deep and click to see. It’s password protected. Damn. I don’t like that. That means I have to talk to someone. And I really don't like that. I prefer to keep to myself. My eyes look past the brightly lit screen and search the place for a waitress, but there isn’t one readily apparent. My shoulders sag with disappointment. Where the hell is the waitress? My eyes drift to directly in front of me and catch the gaze of one of the men sitting across the aisle in the opposite booth.

  I quickly break eye contact, but I got a good enough look at him that heat and moisture pool in my core. He’s fucking hot. Dark hair that’s long enough to grab, and dark, piercing eyes to match. His tanned skin and high cheekbones are emphasized by the dim lighting.

  I swallow thickly and hope the heat in my cheeks isn’t showing as a violent red blush on my face. My eyes hesitantly look back at the man in question, and judging from the smirk on his face, he did see. Shit! I rest my left elbow on the table and attempt to casually cover my face while searching again for a waitress. I’m gonna need a drink to calm these nerves and focus on my work.

  “Would you like a menu?” I turn to see a young man, very Italian-looking, with olive skin and bright green eyes waiting for my response. He seems nice enough and obviously still in high school.

  “No thanks, just a drink please?”

  “What can I get you?” he asks, and then gives me a forced smile. Well, damn. I’m sorry me being here has rained on your parade. I shake off the snide inner remark. Maybe he’s just had a rough day. Like me.

  “Citrus vodka and Sprite, please.” My favorite. I smile brightly at him, hoping maybe a little sunshine will rub off on him, but it’s a no-go. He gives me the same tight smile with a short nod, and leaves.

  This place is odd. I never would’ve guessed that guy was a waiter. He was only wearing black jeans and a black tee. It’s not the uniform I’d expect from a nice place like this. Or the service. A small, self-conscious part of me thinks maybe it’s me. Maybe they don’t like that I’ve come in here just to drink and study. There’s a long bar on the other side of the room though. I close my eyes and shake my head slightly. It’s not me. I’m always thinking that. I need to stop that. It’s a bad habit.

  I stretch out my shoulders and look back at the computer screen. I mumble a curse under my breath. The guy across the aisle distracted me, and I didn’t even get to ask for the password when the waiter finally came around. Damn, I’ll have to remember to ask when he comes back with my drink. I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth. He didn’t even ask for ID. I wonder if I’m starting to look old. I purse my lips as I consider this thought. No fucking way. He’s just a shit waiter.

  Satisfied with that, I return to my syllabus and pull out the corresponding textbook and a yellow highlighter. I've got three chapters from this one to highlight, and then I’ll write my notes down. I nod my head. That’s a good plan. I may have transferred schools two years into my PhD, but I should be able to bang out all three classes this semester and be back on track. I’ve got Molecular and Cell Biology up first. I cringe a bit. It's all just so much fucking memorizing that I’ll never ever use again. This may be a long fucking study hour. Correction. Hours.

  My heart sinks in my chest at the thought of wasting the night like this. I'm so tired of late nights in the lab or studying. I've alienated everyone in my life. My “social life” consists of bailing my mom out of jail and talking to my primary investigator about our research. I don't even want to pursue the summer internship I was offered. I thought I'd love doing cancer research, but my only choices at this point are working with either cells or animals. And neither one is tempting. I have no clue why I’m still working my ass off for this. But if I let it go, what do I have left? Without my career, I’ve merely wasted years of my life hiding from reality. The thought depresses me to the core.

  “Whatcha doing, sweetheart?” My body jolts as I hear the question, and I turn my head to stare at the Italian Stallion that sneaked up on me.

  Hearing his masculine voice and watching his corded muscles ripple as he moves to sit across from me in my booth brings back that initial desire, full fucking force. My pussy heats and I clench my thighs. Holy hell. His muscles are rock fucking hard, and there isn't an ounce of fat on his body. His dark eyes pierce into me. I break away from his gaze and curse my hormones for making me so horny. Not fucking fair. I feel a deep urge to just fuck my frustrations away.

  I don’t need sex. I’ve never had it, never done the dirty deed, but no one needs sex. I bite my lip and feel my shoulders turn inward as doubt creeps in. How the hell would I know if it would help? I’ve never had the courage to go through with it.

  I can’t believe he’s sitting with me, but at the same time, I don’t want to be hit on. I’m sure he’s just trying to get lucky. I don’t have time for this. I have to catch up on my studying so I don't fall behind even more. But I find my eyes drifting down his body the way I imagine his would trail down mine. His white tee shirt is pulled taut over his muscles. My eyes dart to meet his as I belatedly realize that I’m blatantly staring. A blush blazes in my cheeks, and my stomach drops.

&
nbsp; I nervously tuck my hair back behind my ears and lick my lips. I drop my eyes, and focus steadily on the white tablecloth for a moment. I clear my throat and gather the courage to look Mr. Hunk in the eyes. “I have to study.” I’m surprised I had the courage to say anything at all, and that my voice was mostly steady. I wish I weren’t so dismissive though. It came out a bit shorter than I would have liked. I don’t want him to think I’m some bitch. It’s not that. I’m just awkward, and I really do need to study.

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  “Elle,” I respond quickly, and try to keep my voice steady. But it yelps slightly because of my nerves. Fuck! I sound like a damn squeaky mouse. I am a grown woman, damn it! I clear my throat again and wish my drink were here. My hair cascades down from behind my ears, and I nervously reach up to tuck it back into place and take a breath.

  This is a bad idea. I'm not stupid; I need to stop this shit. He's trouble with a capital T, and I’m not in any position to handle him.

  "I’m Vince. What are you studying, sweetheart?"

  Vince. I like that name. It suits him well.

  I consider answering him, but he just wants into my pants. And I need to study. I know this, yet I can’t help getting so wound up and hot for him. All fucking week I've been miserable. Hating my life. Hating how I let my mother pressure me into giving up everything I had going for me so I can be her rock. Just like she always fucking does. I haven't done one thing for myself in so long. Not one reckless thing ever that I can think of. Nothing I wanted to do purely out of desire.