Mean Boy: Bad Boy Romance

by Amy Faye

  "You want to find out?"

  Fourteen

  Wes

  Wesley could feel the arousal already growing in the pit of his stomach, masquerading as frustration. Replacing the annoyance he was already feeling. The fire was already lit inside him when he forced himself to sit up and forward.

  "You want to find out?"

  His body ached badly, but it didn't matter, not when he had Minami sitting right there, her plump breasts making a little stretch in the fabric of her shirt.

  "Let's say I do, and see where it goes."

  Wes could feel himself growing hard already, as he heard the words come out of her mouth. The look on her face told him that she knew exactly what she was doing, that she knew exactly the sort of effect she was having on him, the little minx.

  She didn't know exactly what he was going to do next, though, and that was part of the fun. He reached over and grabbed her by her hips, lifting her up and shifting his own weight until she was straddling him.

  The weight of her body on him was satisfying and enjoyable by itself, but when he pulled up on her shirt, pulled it over her head, and tossed it across the room into a pile, he had other, more enjoyable things to think about.

  Her dusky nipples were already starting to harden with arousal, right there ready and waiting for his mouth. He opened up and took one between his lips, tracing it with his tongue and feeling it crinkle under his ministrations.

  Minami pressed herself into him, trying to take more pleasure from his mouth than he could give. Her hips had already begun to rock against him, where she pressed herself against his hardness. Wes enjoyed the feeling for a long minute, her body rocking back and forth, up and down.

  Her nipple came out of his mouth with a soft pop, and then he pulled the other in. Her grinding was starting to have an edge to it as the pleasure of her rubbing started to build up in her body as an erotic energy that she couldn't control and didn't want to stop. He let her continue, even as he wanted to give her more pleasure still.

  Minami let out a soft mewling moan at the contact between them, and Wes thrust his hips up to meet her grind forward, eliciting a soft yelp of pleasure from her lips. Wes let his teeth meet the soft flesh of her neck, his hands replacing his mouth on her breasts, tweaking and teasing her swollen nipples.

  She let out another gasp. It was so cute, how she tried to stay quiet and simply could not, no matter what she tried. Wes pushed her back and off, eliciting a moan of disappointment. He pushed his weight up a bit, undid the fly on his jeans and pushed them a little way down his hips.

  "Suck my cock," he growled, enjoying her obedience as she slipped to the ground. Her mouth opened and took him inside, and all of a sudden he was experiencing heat and pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him from the moment that her lips wrapped around him.

  "Fuck."

  He could see in her expression that she enjoyed his saying that. He let her dictate the pace, forcing his hands away from her head even as they wanted to find their way back into her thick black hair and force her to take it deeper, force her to go faster.

  She rewarded him for his patience by using her tongue, shooting pleasure through his whole body as she swirled it around him, still in her mouth.

  "Jesus, fuck, girl!"

  He pulled her off. As much as he wanted to cum, and he wanted to cum inside her mouth, he wanted more than that, too, and it would be a shame to waste himself in her mouth when there were so much more inviting targets.

  "Is everything okay?"

  "Fucking Christ, Minami—get up here."

  She reached down to pull her panties off, and then moved back onto the couch, straddling his hips and lining her moist pussy up with his hard shaft, then settling her weight down until Wes was inside her all the way to the hilt.

  Wes let out a low groan as she pushed inside, the feeling of her squeezing down and clinging to him as she started to move no less than the first time they'd done it. It shot little wild thoughts through his head, pleasure that he couldn't stop or control, until he wasn't anything more than the feeling of a cock and the knowledge of what he was supposed to do with it.

  Wes shifted his hips and tipped her over even as she bounced on his cock, pushing her off to the side until she was on her back, the two of them still mated together. It was his turn, now.

  He pressed one desperate kiss to her lips before pulling back to put his hands around her throat, enjoying the way that her body pressed into his hand, looking forward to the high that the oxygen deprivation would give her even without knowing it.

  He plowed into her with a powerful thrust and put his weight down on his hands at the same instant, eliciting a choked moan from Minami's lips, even as she no doubt wanted to do anything else.

  Her body writhed under him as he fucked her, the feeling of their bodies connected too much for either of them to bear for long. Wes could feel the orgasm that was currently ripping through her in the way that she clung even tighter to his cock, as if it needed to memorize the exact shape of his head, as if it wanted to make sure that he couldn't pull out in time.

  He didn't have any intention of making that mistake, not when he didn't have to. He put more weight down on her throat, Minami's eyes starting to roll in her head at the pleasure, and pushed inside with one last, powerful thrust before he let himself cum.

  Shot after shot of potent cum shot out inside her as the two of them lost themselves together in orgasm. Wes lifted his hand from Minami's throat and pressed a kiss against her lips. She took his lips between her teeth, the pair of them still coming down from the incredible high of sex.

  "Jesus Christ, girl," he panted. "Your body was made for fucking."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Well if it weren't," Wes said, thrusting his still-hard cock inside her again for emphasis, "then you're a god damned quick learner."

  She moved her hips up to meet his next slow thrust, and a shock of arousal shot through Wes even as he could feel his cock starting to grow softer.

  "You promise?"

  "Jesus, Minami, you don't know what you're doing to me."

  "Or maybe I just had a good teacher."

  Wes closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of her around him for another long moment before pulling out, tracing a line of kisses between her jaw and her breast.

  "I certainly hope so."

  "I'd say he did alright," Minami answered, her hands tracing lines through Wes's hair.

  Wes could hardly remember what had him in such a bad mood before, and now that he was feeling a little better he sure as hell didn't want to go trying to figure it out.

  "How'd you sleep?"

  Minami's eyes drifted shut a second, post-sex tiredness threatening to overtake them both.

  "Fine. How'd you sleep?"

  "I didn't," he said, surprised that he told her the truth. Minami Shimizu was doing all sorts of things to him, and some of them she damn well shouldn't have.

  Or he shouldn't have let her.

  Fifteen

  Minami

  Minami sat in the car and tried not to think about what was going to happen next. There was a good deal of trouble that she was going to get in, and there was no doubt about that.

  Whether she called for Majima to get her or not, there was going to be trouble. Only, there wasn't. In fact, there wasn't much of anything happening, which was all that much more surprising. Her father didn't come to ask her where she'd been. Nobody came by to talk to her about anything, really.

  Even Mother didn't really say much, besides stopping in to say that they were going to a thing, and she was on her own for dinner. That suited Minami just fine. She'd grown up eating fish, but living in America and eating fish every night could get tiring quickly. Had gotten tiring.

  She thought for a minute about what to do, and then decided that she wasn't going to make any decisions at all, not really.

  "I want to go for a drive," she said, to the first person to show up. They told her the usual spiel, and then sta
rted to take her to the cars. There was some consternation when she said that, no, she'd like to drive herself. She wanted to go for a drive by herself.

  But they weren't going to tell her no, were they? Of course they weren't. As much trouble as they might get into for letting her go, they knew they'd get in at least as much trouble for arguing with the chairman's daughter.

  Minami slipped into the Bentley's front seat and turned on the engine. It had been a long time since she drove. Months. Now it was going to be doubly odd, because this car was worth more than everything she'd owned when she was here on her own, all of it put together.

  She slipped the clutch and let it out in gear, took the car slow up the driveway and into the street. Driving was comforting. She'd liked it, back when she had reason to do her own driving. Sometimes it would be nice just to go out at 2 A.M. and just let herself… drive.

  Look at the street-lights, watch the four other cars on the road whip by. It didn't matter how slow she went—and, for that matter, it didn't much matter how fast, because there wasn't anyone out watching, not most of the time anyways.

  Minami took in a deep breath and slipped the car into the next gear, let herself go on auto-pilot to Wesley's place. A car like this, it might not be smart to leave there, but she didn't have much other choice, and she wasn't planning on staying long.

  She left the car on the side of the road and went on up. Wes agreed to let her take him out, started to grab his car keys from the hook on the wall when she shook her head.

  "No, I'll drive."

  "Oh?"

  "I've got a car waiting."

  "I see," he said, pulling a face.

  He followed her down and out the front. Minami blushed and hurried into the car when she saw the 'Fire Lane — No Parking' sign, but no ticket meant nobody had noticed yet.

  She slipped it back into gear and they were off.

  "Where are we going?"

  "I don't know," she admitted. "I hadn't really thought about it."

  "Someplace Japanese?"

  She shot him a look. "I could eat that at home, if that was all I wanted."

  "No, then?"

  "Not a chance."

  "Hm."

  "Still open to suggestions," she said, turning the car at some arbitrary point to stop them getting out of town while they talked about dinner.

  He didn't have any, and neither did she, so they ended up stopping at someplace cheap. Wes wisecracked that it must have been her first time at a place like this—he didn't know about the year she'd spent here alone, and she wasn't going to tell him. No reason to.

  They ate, they went back, no problem. Minami didn't make the same mistake this time, instead slipping into one of the parking spots in the back of the building and hoping she didn't come back to find the car up on blocks with the wheels stolen.

  Then again, she supposed, it might come back on her but the guys who stole those wheels would be the ones who would really regret it, so maybe it would be fine.

  She let herself smile at that thought. They sure as hell wouldn't like it one bit. No, sir. She followed Wes up to the apartment, not sure what she was going to do if he wanted to go for a second try today. They'd been fucking like rabbits already, the past few days. How long could this keep on going? And for that matter, she needed to get the Bentley back to her father's house.

  Wes opened the door and stepped inside, and immediately got knocked to the floor. He let out a loud yelp as a bat came down hard on his arm, but he forced himself to turn over.

  Minami pressed herself back against the opposite wall of the hallway, unable to help or do anything, but unwilling to leave him alone to his fate.

  She didn't recognize the man who was holding the bat, or the one who had the thick metal rings around his hand who had caught Wes with the first blow, but she recognized Yakuza when she saw them. These weren't some local American street punks.

  Her father hadn't sent them, though, which was surprising by itself. The one with the knuckle dusters seemed to recognize her, and then abruptly stopped paying attention, his attention fully used on the man below him, who had caught the bat between his hands and was trying to yank it free, but couldn't get up.

  The heavy steel knuckles came down hard on Wesley's face, opening up a wicked cut above his eye that bled immediately down his face.

  Wes twisted the bat out of the Yakuza's hand, and then abruptly jabbed the handle into the guy's face, sending him stumbling backwards. Another hard punch to the face, though, and Wes's face was a mask of blood that she would only barely have recognized as human if she'd seen it on the street. He took the bat in his hands and arced it up, hard, cracking the dude on his skull.

  A cry of pain ripped from the Yakuza standing above him, the other one finally bringing himself back to bear as Wes pushed himself back up to his hands and knees. The guy dug the point of his shoe into Wesley's ribs and sent him flying a few inches into the wall.

  If she didn't stop them somehow, Minami thought, they were going to kill him. But in spite of that, she tried to find the words to speak, to tell them to stop, to tell them that he was under her personal protection.

  But the words wouldn't come. It would mean revealing her connection to the Yakuza, telling Wesley that she was from a world she hated, reviled, never wanted to be a part of. She had to tell him, had to eventually, but in the middle of a fist fight?

  Wes took the decision out of her hands when he rose to his knees and took a wide swing that cracked the guy on the side of his cheek, sending him sprawling back into the kitchen once more, and from the sound of things, he wasn't getting back up any time soon.

  The next hit, the one that Wesley sent for the guy with the steel knuckles, wasn't any prettier.

  Sixteen

  Wes

  Wes forced his eyes to stay open. He'd never taken a hit half that bad, not in years, and he would spit if he didn't have a concussion. Which meant that closing his eyes more than an instant, he probably wouldn't open them again.

  Minami had left. She should have left. But now it was God damn hard to keep his eyes open. He stood up to pace around the apartment, and then sat back down. He wasn't sure how far he'd be able to walk in this condition, and he didn't want to fall asleep on his God damned feet. There was water in the fridge, though. That could be useful to have.

  He pushed himself up on unsteady feet and used the back of the sofa as a support as long as he could, then let himself wobble his way to the far wall and around the corner into the kitchen. Which wasn't as bad as he'd expected it to be, but his knees threatened with almost every step to buckle out from under him.

  The fridge came open easy and he crouched down and took a bottle out, leaned his shoulder into the edge of the fridge as he twisted off the cap and took a sip. Cool, clear water was as much as he could as for right now. It went down cold all the way to his belly, and then he set the bottle on the counter and pushed himself back up.

  He closed the fridge and started the trip back. His knees already felt a little better. If he was lucky, he might even be able to walk again in another hour.

  More than that, it would be nice to be able to give the girls something, even if it was only a few hundred dollars. He had a plan, one that he was hoping would provide dividends as long as he could keep fighting. One that would multiply his money quickly and painlessly—or, without any added pain. But he had to keep some money, even after that gremlin of a man had paid him extra to avoid getting clobbered.

  Wes settled back into the sofa and took a long drink of water and tried to relax, without letting his eyes droop shut. They threatened to do it every few minutes, and then he'd lean forward on his elbows, or slap his face. Until then, it wasn't every five minutes, it was every ten. Then every twenty. Until he was feeling better, though it was still as dark as could be. He finished the bottle and went to get another, found that he could make the trip without holding the wall.

  Which meant he couldn't justify sitting around the apartment, not any more.
He grabbed the keys from the hook on the wall and started down to the elevator. It dinged open, he slid inside, and pushed his back against the wall. Better safe than sorry. He pushed the button and the door closed with a loud scraping noise, and then the elevator started to hum as it went down.

  Wes made his way to the car and settled into the seat, turned the key and brought it to life, then turned on the radio. He wasn't going anywhere in the next few minutes. Even that short trip had taken more energy than it should have out of him. He could already feel the wooziness coming back, just a little, and that meant that he should definitely wait as long as he could justify before pulling out of that parking lot. That is, unless he had a God damned death wish.

  Wes took another deep drink from the water bottle and then set it into the passenger seat, too large to fit into the cup holders. Another sucked-in breath, and he put the car into gear and started the short trip to the Western Union.

  The drive was pretty painless, aside from going a few miles under the speed limit. He didn't realize he was doing it, and then would press the gas down harder, but then after another turn or two he'd look back down, and then… five under again.

  He pulled into the parking lot. Usually he had a better time to come here, but if he had to do it at 2 in the morning, then he'd do it at 2 in the morning. The lot was unlit, which was always worrying, particularly because there were two very visible lights in the middle of the lot that weren't working for some reason.

  But the yellow light of the Western Union sign shone above the light inside, which all acted like some sort of beacon of hope.

  Wes slipped out of the car and rubbed his face as near to where he'd been hit as he dared. It itched, the whole thing, but he couldn't touch it with even the lightest touch, or his face would explode in the worst sort of pain he'd ever felt, short of taking the hit itself.

  Wes wasn't going to the hospital for it. What were they going to do? Prescribe him some painkillers, and then send him home, all for the low cost of several hundred dollars. If he needed painkillers, Bradley had his hands in all sorts of pockets. Why on earth would Wes go to the doctor when he can get the stuff straight from the source?