This one, though? She’s special. Really special. I’m not talking about the size of her rack or the firmness of her ass, either. I’m talking about the whole damn package.
Feisty. Big, smart mouth. Yet still so damn elegant in the way she chews my balls off. You know, the only kind of girl I could think of as “my” girl, if I were to settle down at this point in my life. Not that I have any intention of doing so. I’m young, I’ve got wild oats to sow, and no lack of women lining up to take a ride on the Logan Dean Express. I learned that good shit from my mother. You might know her… Camilla Dean? Even though she had me later than most at the time, I still had about four different Daddy figures and a real Dad who didn’t give a shit about me growing up. That does stuff to a young, impressionable guy.
Not that I blame my mother for any of it. Considering our unique situation, she did the best that she could raising me between here and California. Let’s say she was working her ass off to win another Oscar when I was hitting puberty and had no idea where to transfer my crazy sexual urges. So started my life of a different girl every week. Okay, sometimes only one for a whole month. You get what I mean!
The sudden thought of having one girl for the rest of my life is brand-spanking-new to me. I’ve got Daphne DeMarco to thank. That gorgeous vixen who hails as one of the country’s most expensive heiresses.
She’s snobby. She’s annoying. She’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a million.
It’s not unusual for me to see a hottie and instantly start thinking of sex. How I’m going to seduce her. How I’m going to make her mine. Even if it’s for one day, I want that woman thinking that she’s all mine. I’m going to blow her mind and take care of her unlike any other man. They usually leave in the morning, but they’ve got that fantasy now stashed away for the next time they’re alone – or with another guy who can’t find her clit.
That’s what I was thinking when I met Ashleigh a few days ago. That I wanted to see how quickly I could get under that tight skirt and bury my cock beneath that skinny ass of hers. Here’s a secret: girls with the smallest asses tend to have the deepest pussies. Don’t ask me how it works! I’ve got a large sample size to work with here. And a, uh, bigger sample size elsewhere…
Anyway. Daphne DeMarco. A girl I’ve only heard of in passing and in the tabloids, when I bother to flip through them. When I saw her today, strutting into the restaurant like the hottest shit on Earth, I was overcome with that same feeling of make her mine. Yet it was somehow different. It wasn’t just my cock begging me to do unseemly things to another one of society’s good girls. It was my… heart? Yeah, that thing. Thumping harder than ever! I could make a crack about it pumping extra blood to my cock so I could whip it out and impress her with it, but I don’t think that would make my point well.
So what did I do? What I always do when I have no idea how else to seduce a woman. I make fun of her. I mock her. I tease her.
I take it way too far so that she absolutely despises me and storms out of the restaurant in the middle of a double-date.
Great job, Logan!
***
I’m quiet for the rest of the day. Ashleigh is all over me with her superficial attraction. I can tell it’s fake by this point in my life. I doubt I could tell her anything about myself and she would actually care. She’s simply seen the photos, read the stories, heard scandalous tales from her social circles, and now wants a piece of me.
Usually I would give it to her. I’ve got a reputation to keep up, you know. It wouldn’t be hard. Kiss her. Touch her. Throw her down on my bed and give her the ol’ Logan Dean rough ‘n ready. Sometimes when I’m already bored I make a game out of sex. How fast can I make her come so I can come? Those can be the best times if it turns out our quiet and sweet high-society girl is actually a freak in the sack.
I’m not interested in that now.
Somehow, though, we end up in my apartment.
She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. Ashleigh Lee is down to fuck, and she’s hot enough that most guys would call me an idiot for turning her down. “Look at the way she’s shoving her tits up toward you, man! How many references to boning has she made? You think she’s playing coy? Duuuude she’s totally gonna bend over your bed and pull down her panties at any moment! Come on. A ten-minute quickie if she’s already wet enough! You gonna love yourself or not?”
Except it’s like a switch has gone off in my head, and try as I might, I don’t feel attracted to her anymore. Daphne’s face keeps transposing itself on Ashleigh’s every time I look at her. Even I know that’s messed up and wrong.
While we’re standing in the middle of my apartment, talking about nothing at all, Ashleigh stands on her tip-toes and plants a kiss on my lips.
I’m sure it could turn passionate, but I never open my mouth to find out.
Ashleigh’s confused and offended when she steps away and gives me a hard eye. “What’s wrong?” she asks, getting ready to unleash her spoiled rich-girl pout on me. “Did I do something wrong?”
Aw, shit. I can tell from the look on her face that she’s not prodding me to open up. She really thinks she has done something wrong. Ashleigh Lee is one of those girls… worries about every single thing and is obsessed with what others think of her. They’re a handful. Their egos are as small as mine is big. Sometimes I wish I could chip off a piece of my ego and fuse it into them. Every bit helps, right?
“Hey, Ashleigh,” I say, forcing her to meet my gaze. Here’s a hint: I don’t say a girl’s name like this unless I’m about to let her down. “You’re a beautiful girl. Seriously. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
She’s smiling, but I can see the traces of worry on her lips. You could probably tell Ashleigh Lee that she’s the queen of your universe, and she would still doubt you. No wonder she’s friends with Daphne DeMarco.
Honesty is the best policy, right?
“Listen, there’s someone else on my mind right now. I hate to tell you this late, but I didn’t think it really meant anything. Sorry…”
I’ve never seen someone blink as much as Ashleigh does. It’s like every time a synapse fires in her brain, she’s gotta blink. Some kind of strange reflex. Wait, do I do that too? “Is it Daphne?” she asks meekly.
“Uh…” I wasn’t going to be that honest. What? You think I’m mean enough to tell the girl I’m on a date with that I think her best friend is hotter and more worthy of my cock? Maybe my reputation really is that bad after all… “Why would you think that?”
Ashleigh makes a face I’ve yet to see – a mix of disbelief and condescension. “That’s how it usually goes. Guys like her a lot. You two seemed to hit it off, so…”
“Hit it off? Were you even there?”
“Your provoked a huge reaction out of her. She’s usually a lot more in control of her emotions. The only time she lashes out at guys like that is when she thinks they’re worth her time.”
“I see.”
Ashleigh readjusts her purse strap. “I’ve gotta get going. Thanks for lunch. I’m sorry for making this awkward.”
“Hey, don’t apologize. I kinda led you on.”
She looks at me as if I’m the sorriest fucker around. “Yeah, you did. That’s okay, though. Better for you to reject me now than in the middle of doing it. That’s happened to me before.”
“Yikes.” How do you respond to that?
Ashleigh shows herself out. I’m left alone in my cozy apartment, and all I want to do is sit on the edge of my rumpled bed and think of Daphne. A woman I haven’t even seen since we had lunch hours ago.
It didn’t matter if she was pissed or trying to contain herself. Her eyes were made of the iciest fire I had ever seen! I know it’s cliché to say a girl’s blue eyes are like ice. Well, it’s very true in Daphne DeMarco’s case. Every time I made eye contact with her, the room grew about ten degrees colder, as if someone drew an ice cube down my arm. You know what that means, though: she’s extra hot in the places that
matter most.
I can feel those chills now. They’re exploding from within, taking my heart down like the sinking ship it is.
Before I know it, I’m lying back on my bed and unzipping my jeans. Surprise. My cock is already halfway to hard. The moment I touch it, I’m thinking of Daphne’s head on my lap, her breath terribly close to my cock.
And imagining her pulling down the front of that breezy sundress.
Showing me her breasts, which were more than nice to look at in a dress.
Kissing me hard, relentlessly, turning me into a wild bear that only wants her hidden honey.
Daphne would be the type of feisty woman who pulls off that tablecloth and all the cutlery on her own terms. She’d do it just to hop on the table in front of me and spread her legs, teasing me with her wet pussy that she touches in a rhythm only women know.
“Fuck me, Logan. Put me in my place and make me yours. Show me what it’s like to be taken by a real man.”
My hand moves up and down my length. I sigh, resting my head against the nearest pillow and imagining that it’s Daphne’s pussy I’m fucking instead of my own hand.
The whole restaurant would watch. Or maybe not. Who cares? Time has stopped so we can have our rough and furious fuck on a dining table. I grab those long, silky brown locks and pull. Daphne cries out, my cock buried to the hilt in her tight pussy that only gets tighter as she readies to come.
I can see it. The look of sheer, feisty ecstasy on her face as she starts to milk my cock of all its seed. I’m giving it to her, too, because that’s what the real man she craves does. It’s the only way to tame a spoiled heiress like her.
My groans of pleasure are only interrupted as I’m rudely reminded of my own hand instead of her body wrapped around me. That I’m probably never going to experience a moment like this with one of the only women I’ve decided deserves my body inside of hers.
Kill this fantasy, man. You’re only going to piss yourself off. There’s gotta be someone else. Find my little black book and call up the first available girl to come by so I can pound her, thoughts of Daphne constantly intruding.
I don’t want another girl. I want her. I want Daphne DeMarco’s lips locked on mine… and possibly a few other place as well.
I jerk up on my bed. The most brilliant idea has entered my mind.
See, I’ve got an interview for my mother’s latest movie to do in an hour. It’s going to be the perfect opportunity to start setting in motion the only way I’ll get Daphne DeMarco’s hot, firm ass in my bed – and my cock inside of her.
First, though, I’ve got something else to take care of.
Chapter 3
DAPHNE
I am currently not on speaking terms with Ashleigh, so I’ve been ignoring her calls since that so-called date. That doesn’t explain why she’s been incessantly ringing me all day.
Suffice to say, I am ignoring her. The first few times I merely put her on silent. After the tenth time, I blocked her – temporarily! I’ll be over this fit with her soon enough. It’s not the first time we’ve been on these kinds of terms. Probably won’t be the last, either.
Text messages blow up my phone when it’s apparent I’m not answering. Fuuuck. I shove my phone beneath my pillow and go back to doing my nails and flipping through my favorite tabloid.
I live and breathe for The Daily Social. Don’t believe me? It’s my homepage on all my devices. My maid knows to leave my physical copies on a silver tray outside my door, complete with iced tea and two Vanilla wafers for me to enjoy while I flip through the pages and see who is up to no good these days. See who is wearing what and who is dating whom.
This month there is a page dedicated to the big wedding between Ethan Cole and his assistant-turned-fiancée Jasmine Bliss. I only know of Ethan Cole because Daddy does a lot of business with him. Don’t know anything about his pretty fiancée, but I love her fashion sense. This month’s big picture of her is some poufy pink dress and a fluffy white jacket. Her big, round sunglasses go great with her curly hair. Who does it for her? I bet it’s Raul. I can pick out his styling from a mile away!
The next page is dedicated to the annual Domestic Violence Gala spearheaded by Monica Warren, who had the wedding of the year until her bff Jasmine upstaged her. Monica is the real winner if you ask me. She’s got a baby coming. Of course, she totally got knocked up before the wedding, but only Mama will say anything mean about it. Daddy agrees with her until he’s alone with his buddies. Then he can’t stop talking about what a catch both Henry and Monica Warren are. I hear she runs a fancy brothel. Mama hates her even more for that.
Who is Damon Monroe dating this month? Speaking of perverts my mother hates! It’s funny. She was all gung-ho about trying to get me to date his thirty-year-old ass until she found out he was the co-owner of some kinky sex club. Too bad. He’s really good-looking if you like men who don’t wear a shade lighter than black. Just because he co-owns a sex club doesn’t mean he’s a pervert. It’s good business sense these days.
I turn the page. Eep! Do my eyes deceive me, or is it a rare photo of Kathryn Alison and her boyfriend Ian Mathers? No way. You don’t understand. These two do everything they can to avoid the paps. Their relationship is so private that some speculate they’ve been secretly married for months. I hope they are. They’re such a darling couple, and the idea that they could hide something like that from the press makes me love Kathryn even more. I’ve had a major girl-crush on her ever since she gave the commencement speech at my graduation two years ago. She went to the Winchester Academy too, but is way older than me. I think she’s almost thirty.
She’s the kind of woman I aspire to be. Not only is she a mega-rich heiress like me, but she’s so incredibly classy and humble. (I know, I’ve gotta work on that.) In fact, isn’t she the richest woman around here? Yet she’s never flaunted it, except to cut huge checks to her charity projects. I was shocked to find out she started dating playboy Ian Mathers a year ago. Never thought she would go for a guy like that. Isn’t it amazing how a woman can reign a guy in and seemingly change him? Oh, I know it’s not a good thought to have. Life doesn’t really work that way. Once an ass, always an ass. Yet it’s a fun fantasy, this business of taming a wild man who could have any woman in the world – but it’s you he’s committing to for the rest of his life.
Ugh, and they look so good together. Why can’t I have something like that?
One more time my cell phone rings. Fine, Ashleigh, have at it!
“What?” Can she hear my ire? I bet she can hear my ire.
“Hey, Daphne…” Ashleigh’s more sheepish than Mary’s little lamb. “What’s up?”
“Calling to grovel?” My voice is syrupy sweet. I instantly regret saying that, but here’s hoping Ashleigh doesn’t take it too personally. When I’m pissed at someone, I tend to come off as a huge bitch even when I don’t mean to. All I know right now is that I hope she’s sorry about what transpired the other day at the restaurant.
“Actually,” she begins, making my blood turn cold in my veins. Her tone is only a little strange. I am so not in the mood for whatever is going to come slap me in the face.
“Well? Spit it out already.”
Throat clearing. Shuffling the phone. Cracks over the line. Get. To. The. Point.
“Have you seen The Big Hello yet today?”
I flip The Daily Social shut and look at my stack of weekly magazines accumulating on a coffee table near my bed. I have a ritual. I read one first, then the next, then the next, all in a certain order. The Big Hello is at the bottom of the list. One time some fucker wrote an article that I was pregnant with twins by two different guys at my university, so it can burn for all I care.
Some women gobble up romance novels every day. I need a hardcore dose of trash to start my day off well.
“Not yet,” I admit. “Why? Am I in it?” My nail polish almost falls out of my hand. “They didn’t say I’m pregnant again, did they? Last time Daddy and Mama almost sent me to
a nunnery at the mere prospect that I’m not a virgin.” It’s been three years, y’all. Getting my cherry popped was one of the best decisions I ever made. College has been so much sweeter for it.
Some tawdry giggle comes over my line. “There’s an interview with Logan Dean in it. Don’t get too upset, okay?”
“Upset?” My mouth twists into a sneer. “Why would I be upset? Like I give a fuck about that guy.”
Yet I’m already off my bed and rummaging through the stacks of magazines on my coffee table. When I find the right logo, I flip the magazine open and turn until I find a giant spread of Logan Dean looking like the smarmiest fucker in the world.
Asshole. Of course he’s got a full portrait. The media loves their Hollywood darling. I bet the interviewer was a single woman who had to clench her legs shut so she wouldn’t jump his bones for some answers. It’s hard to not imagine her riding his lap while she asks these asinine questions on the page.
“How are you enjoying the east coast again? Any girls you have your eye on?”
Oh, good, it’s not only women who get grilled about their dating lives.
“Definitely. I’ve had a few flings here and there, you know, the usual… but I have my eye on someone right now.”
“Who might that lucky lady be?” Don’t ooze any more jealousy, lady. Otherwise you might have to go to the gynecologist to get that checked out.
“Do you know Daphne DeMarco? She’s always showing up in your fashion column, I believe. What I hear, though, is that she’s nothing like the other prissy princesses of New England. I hear she’s quite [omitted] and likes to [omitted], even with a few people at a time. So, yeah, you could say that I’m interested in her! She sounds pretty kinky.”
The magazine lands by my recently-painted toenails.
“Daphne? You there?” My phone is still glued to my ear, although I don’t think I’m moving anytime soon. “You okay? Should I come over? Maybe I can call my family’s publicist to help you deal with this.”
I Need A Bad Boy: A Collection of Bad Boy Romances Page 40
