I Love It: 10 Intense Stories to Keep the Passion Alive (Shameless Book Bundles 6)

by Saffron Daughter

  “Oh, I mean, except for your stupid friends who follow you around like dogs.”

  “Hey, I don’t give a fuck about them. I was talking about the girls, actually.”

  I roll my eyes. His reputation is known in this school, and the one the next county over.

  Chance Hudson has slept with more girls than ten men will in their lifetimes, they say.

  Chance Hudson has slept with half the female staff, they say.

  I don’t care. It’s disgusting. He’s a dog.

  “You’re a dog,” I say. “You’re disgusting.”

  He grins, eyebrows flashing up. “I am, aren’t I?”

  “You’re proud of it?”

  He thinks for a moment, pushing his lips together, and brown eyebrows pinching together like two caterpillars meeting.

  “Never really thought about it that way. It’s just what I do.” He smirks at me again, before getting up off the bench. “Come on,” he says.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Come on. I’ll give you a ride. You know you want one.” He doesn’t even grin, he just plays it straight.

  “Yuck. You’re gross,” I say, shaking my head. “No thanks.”

  “The bus isn’t due for an hour. You know that right?”

  “An hour?”

  “What, you didn’t check the timetable? I thought you knew everything.”

  “I thought you knew nothing.”

  “Well I know you can either sit out here for an hour, or I can drive you home.”

  “Why would I get into a car with you?”

  “Come on, Cass, are you really asking me that question? Why does anybody get into a car with me?” He extends his arm, all lean and muscular, but I just ignore it. He really is such a pig.

  “You’re so wrong, you know, with how you approach everything. You can’t talk to people this way. You’ve got a one-track mind.”

  “This one-track mind is about to give you a free lift home.”

  “No, this one-track mind is about to piss off.”

  “Are you sure?” he says. “Don’t worry, I may be a dog, but I won’t bite.”

  I snap the book I was reading shut, and get up, sighing. I don’t want to wait for an hour.

  “Don’t try anything.”

  He laughs, and puts his hands up. “You’ve got a pretty inflated opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

  “Just shut up, okay?” I say, irritated. “Just, don’t talk to me. Where’s your car?”

  “So you do want a ride?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Where’s your car, Chance?”

  “Alright, alright,” he says, falling into step with me. He rubs my shoulder with his, but I pull away. Still, it leaves my heart beating quicker.

  “Over here,” he says, and we walk to the street. There I see what looks like a sports car. “Mazda RX-8,” he says.

  “I don’t care about your car.”

  “Well, to be fair, muscle was always my thing, but this was a gift. I can’t really complain.”

  “Someone gifted you a Mazda?” I cry, flabbergasted. I realize it’s not exactly uncommon around this area, but still, it looks expensive, and who would like Chance enough to give him a car?

  “It was my uncle. He’s some big wig somewhere, I don’t care. It corners well.”

  He unlocks the car and walks around to the driver’s side. “Well, get in!” he says, smirking. “You don’t think I’m going to open the door for you, do you?”

  “Piss of, Chance. Just don’t talk, okay?” I snarl, climbing into the car.

  Chapter Three

  Cassie

  It’s so hot in the car that I have to take off my gown, and of course, leave it to me to wait until I’m actually in the car, and we’re actually moving, before I try to. I struggle through it, pulling it off my arms, contorting as much as possible against the seat belt.

  That’s when I notice Chance isn’t wearing his seat belt.

  “What are you, a complete idiot? Will you put your seat belt on?”

  “It’s not far,” he says casually.

  “Put it on,” I say, hardening my voice. “You know how many people die because they are as stupid as you?”

  “Okay, okay, no need to get your panties all twisted up,” he says, pulling the seat belt over his body. “I was about to.”

  I sigh, and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m not getting anything twisted up. You’re just an idiot.”

  “Ouch. What is it with you and the name calling, Cass?”

  “Don’t call me Cass. My name is Cassie.”

  “You’re all so prickly.” He leans over to me and grins. “Prickly pear… are you frustrated?”

  “God, just let me out of the car, okay?” I’m huffing now, and I don’t even know why I agreed to get in in the first place.

  “Oh, just sit still, okay? We’re nearly there.”

  “Why are you taking this road?” I ask. He’s going by the beach. It’s not the quickest way.

  “Because I want to.”

  “But it’s a slower route.”

  “Wow, Cass, you should really chill out. You know, high stress is bad for your blood pressure.”

  “Like you would know anything about that.”

  I cross my arms and look out of the window. I don’t even want to look at him, his big and strong hands holding carelessly onto the wheel, the way his t-shirt seems to have molded itself to the muscular contours of his body.

  Oh God, what is wrong with me? Why do I feel like I want this total dickhead?

  I force myself to focus on the scenery outside. It’s actually pretty nice. The sea is sparkling like it’s been sprinkled with crystals, and surprisingly the beach is nearly completely empty. It stretches on for nearly two miles, and I can barely see anybody on it. There’s a light breeze, and I can see the lines of the catamarans on the beach flapping against their metal masts. I whirr down the window, and sure enough, I can hear the clinking sounds.

  But then I hear another clink, much closer, and very familiar. I look over to Chance, and my mouth drops. “You’re going to smoke in here?”

  He looks at me, cigarette dangling from between his lips, a puzzled expression on his face. “Yes, Cass. I am.”

  “Can you not?”

  He shrugs, and sparks his silver zippo lighter anyway.

  “You are such an inconsiderate ass.”

  “My car, my rules.”

  “Then just let me out!” I cry, and to my surprise, he yanks the car over and to a stop.

  “If you like,” he says, shrugging. “No skin off my back.”

  “Argh!” I groan, undoing the seatbelt and getting out. I slam the car door – I know that he’ll hate that – and start walking along the beach. It’s only twenty minutes to my house, and the walk won’t kill me.

  But sitting in that car with Chance might make me kill him.

  I’m appalled when I hear a car door close and the car lock chirrup, and turn around to see that he’s gotten out, and he’s walking over to me with his infuriatingly cocky gait, and that same stupid smirk on his face.

  “Oh my God, you just don’t know when to stop, do you?” I say, putting my hands up. I’m so annoyed. I’m exasperated. What the hell is his game, anyway? Why is he bugging me so much today?

  “Why didn’t your father attend the ceremony?” he asks, squinting against the sun. His eyes become slits, and somehow it makes him more attractive.

  “What business is it of yours?”

  “My mother went on some company get away.” He shrugs. “I don’t really give a fuck. But you seem to give a fuck, so why not talk about it? Isn’t that what therapists say we should do? Talk about what we give a fuck about?”

  I balk. “Are you seeing a therapist?”

  “Have to. Court orders.”

  “For what?”

  “Punching some suit in the jaw. He had to have it wired. He was a douche.”

  Try as I might, I can’t even understand why he’s telling me this
, or what it is even supposed to mean to me. I just sigh, and keep walking.

  “So, why isn’t he here?” he asks me.

  “Why did you punch the guy?” I ask him back.

  “He said he knew my mother. Said she fucked her way up the company.”

  I stopped, eyes-wide. “Really? He said that?”

  “Yes, he did. I wouldn’t put it past her, but nobody else gets to say anything about her.”

  “You talk about your own mother that way?”

  “Hey,” he said, sucking in a huge drag of his cigarette. “I call it like I see it. Besides, I can’t imagine you’d have too many nice things to say about your pops.”

  “He didn’t come because he was away on some work thing as well. Some kind of partner holiday. I can’t imagine why the partners would want to holiday together.”

  “Sounds like he’s a prick.”

  “Hey,” I say, turning on him and pointing a finger in his grill. “Don’t talk about my family.”

  “See?” he says. “You get it.”

  I blink. “Oh, why are you following me, Chance?”

  He shrugs. “You want me to go, just say it, I’ll go.”

  “Right, because you don’t care.”

  “I don’t.”

  I roll my eyes, but for some reason, I don’t tell him to go. We just walk in silence for a while. His shoulders bump into mine, and I think about stepping away again, but I just can’t be bothered to. I know him, the kind of boy he is. He just doesn’t stop… ever.

  He must think of me as some kind of conquest, or something. That would be so him.

  *****

  Chance

  I do care. That’s the truth of it. I care, and I care a lot. She stole my attention the very first time I saw her at the beginning of the school year. I had to repeat because I cut too much class.

  She was sitting right at the front, back rigidly erect, her mocha-brown hair neatly parted, so straight like it was ironed. And there I was, uniform shirt untucked, top button undone, and a whole lot of don’t-give-a-fuck in my attitude. It was a fancy school, but fuck uniforms forever.

  She barely even looked at me. I can remember it to this day. All the other girls in the classroom did, of course. Even the class teacher would lick her lips at me every morning at attendance, shoot me anytime-you-want looks while practically panting. Our teacher was young… well, for a teacher. Early thirties, I’d guess. But she wasn’t my type. Truth be told, once I met Cassie, nobody was my type anymore.

  And that, there, is something that scares me. It’s a little secret I have, but you’d never fucking know it by looking at me. I’ve not been with a girl since I saw Cassie that very first day of term.

  Her eyes had wiped over me like I wasn’t even something to be acknowledged, and then they had gone right back to her textbook. I read the page header as I walked to my customary seat at the back of the class: A Brief History of Political Science.

  I didn’t even fucking know that our school had political science electives.

  And now I’m walking with her along Sunset Way, and the sound of the sea is in my ears, and the smell of salt is on the air, and I’m waiting for her to tell me to go, because I will if she does. I don’t know why, exactly, but I will.

  But she doesn’t say it. And we just keep walking. She veers onto the beach, and I walk there with her, feeling the soft sand beneath my shoes.

  I feel it inside me, as I pull another drag from my cigarette, this growing ball of energy. I feel like I’ve got a fireball inside my gut, and it’s going to burst me at the seams.

  She does things to me. Fuck, she really does. And… and I like it. I like it and I hate it. If this was any other chick I just wouldn’t fucking care. But look at me, walking on the fucking beach in the late afternoon with her.

  I never thought I’d be a cliché.

  “My father is a prick,” she says after a moment.

  “Hey, it’s like a checklist,” I say. “Box one, daddy issues. Check.” I tick it off with my finger.

  She scowls at me.

  I don’t even know why I said it. It just came out of my mouth. I shrug. That’s who I am, why the fuck should I apologize for it?

  “If you think I’ve got daddy issues, then you’ve got oedipal issues.” She flashes her eyes at me, challenging me. She thinks I don’t know what she’s talking about. It’s cute.

  “No I don’t,” I say. “And that shit’s pretty much been debunked.”

  “You know, for a dumbass jock, you have a surprising vocabulary.”

  “I’m not a jock,” I say. “I don’t give a fuck about all that.”

  “Right,” she says, rolling her eyes at me again. I just grin at her again. “You don’t give a fuck. Tell me something new. But you were a school athlete.”

  “Hey, I take care of my body. I’m better than everyone else at every sport. It was easy credits. I had half the school watching me at practice.”

  “You’re so full of yourself.”

  “So are you, just in a different way.”

  “I am not full of myself!” she shouts.

  That got a rise out of her.

  “Really?” I challenge, walking in front of her and turning around. I’m walking backwards now, and I see her eyes roam up and down my body. I can see she’s trying not to meet my eyes. It’s… it’s hot. She’s hot. Now with the gown off, I can see the shape of her body. God, she’s got some hips on her, and thighs I’d massage for hours. And her ass… she’s got it there, alright. It’s big, and it makes my hands feel empty.

  “Really,” she sniffs, looking toward the sea. “I’m definitely not full of myself.”

  “Well, let me think. Today you’ve called me an idiot something like seven times, stupid three times, and basically all your insults have been aimed at my intelligence. I’d say you’re pretty up yourself in a very particular way.”

  “What, you a psychologist now?”

  “See, you did it again. And I don’t have to be. Any idiot could see it.” I wink at her, and to my total surprise, I see just a flicker of a smile.

  “You know, Chance, you’re not as interesting as you think you are.”

  “I’m certainly more interesting than you thought I was,” I say. “Admit it”

  “Try again,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

  I take out a box of mints. I rattle it, but she just shakes her head, so I shrug, and pop two into my mouth.

  She takes a deep breath, and I prepare myself for a lot of words.

  “You think you’re like this mystery to be unraveled. You think that girls like you not because you’re the quote-unquote bad boy on the outside… stop laughing.”

  But I can’t help myself. She even did the finger air quote-gesture.

  “You think you’re all hard on the outside and that actually you’re this interesting person on the inside and that everybody is just dying to puzzle you out, dying to unlock the true you.”

  “Now you sound like the psychologist.”

  “I’ve met your type before.”

  “No you haven’t.”

  “Yes I have.”

  “Really?” I say, and I know I’m going to hate myself for letting the next words fly out of my mouth. But I do, because that’s me. “How many guys like me want to spend time talking to you?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cassie

  Every time I think he can’t possibly get any worse, he somehow manages to top himself. Every single time. It doesn’t even offend me. Well, that’s a lie. It does, and it does hurt a little, but fuck him, I really don’t care what he thinks, and I’m done with him.

  “Fuck you, Chance.”

  I walk off, quicker, pushing him away as I walk past him. A moment passes, and I keep walking, but I feel like I’m walking the plank. I feel like I’m crossing a tightrope without a harness. I feel like I’m waiting for something…

  “But they should want to,” he calls from behind me.

  I stop, wondering if I hea
rd him correctly. I turn around slowly, and see him walking toward me. He’s closing the distance between us in powerful strides, and I just am rooted to the floor, breathing quickly, my heart racing, wondering what’s going to happen next.

  And then he holds my face in his hands, and he kisses me. It’s not just any kiss. He crushes my lips against his. There’s no tongue at first, he just kisses my lips, and before I know it, I’ve dropped my things, and I’m holding onto his muscular back, and I’m kissing him back.

  Not just any kiss. I’m crushing my lips against his, and I’m moaning into his mouth, and I’m sending my tongue deep inside.

  I can feel his hot breath on me, and then he’s kissing down my neck, and I’m gripping onto his hair, and his hands are rounding my waist and on my ass and he gives my cheeks a squeeze. Unconsciously, I push my hips into his, and I’m startled to feel his hardness through his jeans.

  Our kiss breaks, and I look down, and I can see him. See his desire pushing against his jeans. I can’t believe I’m kissing him. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  It’s like I’m not myself. I pull him down onto the sand, and he sits behind me, wraps his arms around me, and I push back against his body as he kisses the back of my neck. His hot breath makes my hairs stand on end, and shivers run down my body from head to toe at his every touch. His fingers leave trails of fire all over me.

  His hands are hungry, groping, squeezing me, and I turn my head to the side and he takes my lips again, and while he’s kissing me, while we’re tonguing each other, while I’m practically hyperventilating, he’s running his hand slowly south, over my belly, and under my skirt.

  I want to stop him. I don’t want to give in to him. But, oh God, I don’t want him to stop. He begins to rub the inside of my thigh, squeeze it in his big and powerful hands, inching ever slightly upward, under my skirt, toward my molten center.

  And I know I’m so turned on. I can feel it, the tightness in my belly, the fullness at the juncture of my thighs. I even become aware of the wetness in my underwear, pressing back against me when he suddenly cups my sex.

  I gasp, feeling the heat of his palm radiate into my core, and then he’s rubbing me through my underwear, and all I’m doing is pushing my head back into him, arching my back, stretching out like a cat in the sun.