The Stars Landing Deviant

by Jessica Gadziala

  "Great," Emily said, moving toward the door. "If you need anything I am always floating around. And Devon is always at the front desk, not working."

  "Thanks, Emily," I smiled, letting her close the door before I walked around the room, taking in the lack of a shower in the bathroom. Baths were great, don't get me wrong, but they were for pampering. For relaxing. They were not for everyday cleansing. That would take some getting used to.

  I waited a moment before grabbing my key and going back downstairs. If I was going to be redoing all my plans, I was going to need my bags. I opened my backseat, grabbing a book and shoving it into my design caddy, then went into the trunk to grab my other bags.

  "Your car is filthy," a deep voice said behind me.

  I felt my spine straighten almost as quickly as I felt my hackles rise up. Who the hell did he think he was? Sure, he was good looking. But good men are a dime a dozen. It didn't give him a free pass to say whatever the hell he wanted to.

  "Yes that's right," I said, hauling the rolling bag out of the trunk. "Criticize my car instead of helping me with my bags. How gentlemanly of you."

  I slammed the trunk closed, pushing a bag up on my shoulder as I turned. He was a lot closer than he sounded. No more than a foot or so behind me, towering over me, looking too comfortable with his invasion of my privacy. I was not, was absolutely not, attracted to him. Nope. Not in the least.

  "No one would ever accuse me of being a gentleman," he said, still looking down at me as I struggled to grab my caddy and my suitcase.

  "No? Really? You have such impeccable manners," I drawled, rolling my eyes.

  "I'm Dane."

  Dane. Because he, of course, couldn't be named something tame like Brian or Joey.

  I shifted the bag up onto my shoulder again as it started to slip down. "Cordelia Cameron," I said, inwardly cringing at how formal I sounded. Always too pretentious. It was self defense. If I didn't wear my professional persona as a mask, people would see the timid little bookworm underneath. And that could never happen. Ever.

  "Cordelia?" he asked, rolling my name intimately around on his tongue. A brow arched up. "That's a ridiculous name."

  Oh, what a bastard. "It's from King Lear," I countered, knowing that wasn't going to help my case if he was familiar with the play. "Besides, Dane makes you sound like a complete tool," I added, turning to start toward the inn before I dropped everything.

  "Tool, huh?" he asked, making me stop. "I'm okay with being a tool. Hammering," he said, his voice low and suggestive. "Nailing. Drilling..."

  I shook my head, forcing my legs to carry me forward. I had not thought about him hammering and nailing and drilling me. No. I was not that weak.

  "Hey, princess," he called, making me stop on the bottom step of the porch. "I give it two weeks."

  I shouldn't have turned around. I knew it was a bad idea. But I couldn't stop myself.

  "Two weeks for what?"

  He smiled, shaking his head and I knew I was in for it. "Until I fuck you up and down the road and through the floor."

  I felt my cheeks heat up as I tilted my chin upward, turned and went up onto the porch and into the inn. I was trying to make it look like I wasn't running away from him; like I wasn't running away from his declaration. Because I had a sneaking suspicion his words were more of a premonition. And that scared the shit out of me.

  Three

  Dane

  She was an interesting complication. Make no mistake, that is exactly what a woman like her was: complicated. And I generally chose decidedly uncomplicated women. Give me a set of nice tits on someone with an IQ barely above a fucking goldfish and I was in my glory. Pretty and stupid. They might not be great for dinner conversation, but talking is never really what I had in mind anyway.

  Cordelia Cameron. Even her name was pretentious. But fuck if she wasn't one of the prettiest women to find herself in Stars Landing with her blond hair an big dark blue eyes. She was short which wasn't really my thing, but with that rack and ass... who the hell cared about her height? I wanted to rip that silly blazer off and get a better look at what was underneath. But that would have to wait.

  She was going to be a challenge. Which was a good thing. I could use a distraction. The move back to Stars Landing had been full of plans and hope. I was going to get my old bartending job back, but I was also going to have ownership in it this time. And I was going to use that new power to overhaul the place... and the storage room upstairs which was going to be my new place. But literally everything that could go wrong, had. Supplies were delayed, walls needed to be ripped out, rewiring needed to be done. Nothing was as simple as the few week project I had been anticipating. So there I was, still stuck at the damn inn months later.

  The bar was almost done because that was the priority. Business needed to stay afloat even through the renovations. But my apartment wasn't any closer to done than when I started. At least not aesthetically. All the electrical and plumbing had been redone and as of that morning, the bathroom was done. Which was why there was white paint all over my boots.

  I would have cleaned up the footprints eventually. If for no other reason than because Emily would roast me over a fucking spit if she saw them. If there was one thing I learned from being friends with her, then sort-of dating her, it was she was all too happy to find a reason to flip out on me over something. And when we used to be together, that fight was always followed by great angry sex. But since she was with James, the appeal of her anger was long gone.

  But when Cordelia got her hackles all up about it, I couldn't help but act like it wasn't my problem. Then to see her all down on her knees cleaning it up...

  I needed to get laid. It really just boiled down to that. I hadn't gotten any since I got back from California three months before, still harboring the hope that Emily would take me back even though I had just up and left one day without saying anything. Which was a total dick move, but I needed to get away. I figured we would have a huge blow up for a few hours and then fuck for the next day straight. But that fell through and I got busy with the bar and apartment and I hadn't taken the time out to chase some skirts.

  That was something I needed to get on top of. As soon as possible. Don't get me wrong, I still planned on chasing Cordelia. But that was going to take time and finesse. I needed something to hold me over.

  I walked down the street toward the bar, thinking about slipping underneath that haughty demeanor of the new decorator. I had a feeling she was going to be a lot of fun in bed. There was something about shy and uptight women that made them animals in the sack. She was going to fight the attraction tooth and nail just to prove a point. Just so she won't have to think of herself as a woman who had casual sex with a local manwhore while on assignment in some nowhere town.

  Because that was not the kind of woman she was.

  Except she was about to be... if I had any say in it.

  "Hey gorgeous," I said casually, sitting down on a stool next to a pretty brunette I had a vague memory of though I remembered her blond and hanging out in the school parking lot.

  "You old enough to drink?" I asked, looking over at the bartender who nodded as he scribbled in a notepad.

  "Last week," she agreed, smiling at me.

  "One week and you're already day drinking?" I asked, throwing back my whiskey. "My kinda girl."

  "You know," she started, her voice teasing like any pretty girl learns how to do sometime in high school, "my mother told me to stay clear of the O'reilly brothers..."

  "Luckily I am not one," I said, smiling and thinking of how neutered Eric O'reilly had become since shacking up with his new chick.

  "And Dane Broderick," she finished, her brow lifting as a smirk played at her lips.

  "Well," I said, tapping the bar next to her drink so the bartender got her another round. "You have two options."

  "Two options?" she asked, smiling at the bartender as she took her new drink.

  "Yu
p," I said, reaching out and toying with the hem of her skirt.

  "What are my options?" she asked, her voice already getting slightly husky.

  "Option one, is you take your mother's very wise advice and run like hell away from me."

  "Or?" she asked, watching my hand slide across her thigh.

  "Or," I said, resting my arm on the bar beside her. "you come back to the inn with me and I fuck you into complete oblivion until the morning." Her eyes went wide for a moment. "I think you know enough about me to know you aren't going to get roses and chocolates. Actually, I am probably never going to call you after," I said honestly. It was amazing how many women would still fall into bed with you after you told them the god-awful truth. "But I can promise it will be the best sex of your life. You'll compare every man in your future to the one night you spent with me."

  "You're that good," she said, her tone still teasing, but there was desire there.

  "I'm that good," I agreed. She had no idea.

  "And what if one night isn't enough?" she asked, placing her hand on my thigh, too far above my knee to be casual.

  "Well after a reasonable amount of time in which you prove you're not a jealous stalker," I said, letting my fingers trail up under her skirt slightly, "we can maybe discuss the possibility of a casual thing."

  "Well," she said, her fingers sinking into my thigh as my fingers grazed the hem of her panties. "What are we still doing here then?"

  I'd like to say it wasn't always this easy for me to get laid. And for other men, maybe that was true. Maybe there was a lot of rejection and frustration. But I'd never really had a problem. Maybe a part of it was in this town, I was the kind of man young women get warned against. Maybe it was the danger, the curiosity. Maybe it was just a silent 'fuck you' to their too-strict upbringing. I was just a show of rebellion. But it worked on other women too: women out of town, women who had never even heard of me, women in California who had seen more than their share of good looking men. Enough of them that a pretty face wasn't going to be enough to send them sprawling across my bed.

  I liked to think it was the fact that I didn't bullshit them. I was up front about it being a one night thing. I made no vows and didn't feed them any flowery words. I promised them bed-breaking, life changing sex, and I fucking delivered.

  That was what got me as much ass as I can handle.

  I led the girl, Amanda, into the inn, sharing a nod with Devon and ignoring the slightly raised eyebrow from Emily. She knew me better than anyone. I could practically hear her thoughts as I passed by- something about how stupid it was to try to fight an attraction to one woman by fucking another. Then, as I heard her chuckle and step out onto the porch, something about how thin the inn walls were.

  "I've never been in one of the inn rooms," Amanda said as I unlocked the door.

  "Don't expect much," I said, reaching in and turning the lights on. "They're hideous."

  "I heard they're remodeling," she said, kicking off her shoes as soon as she was in the door, five inch stilettos that had her toes looking red and painful.

  "Yup," I said, leaning against the closed door and crossing my arms over my chest as she looked around. "Turn around," I said and she froze for a second before complying.

  "Okay," she said, giving me an uncertain smile. It was the first hint of insecurity I had seen since I started talking to her. Maybe the confidence was a mask after all.

  "Take off your clothes," I said, watching the smile slip off her face.

  "You first," she said, giggling nervously.

  "Take off your clothes, Amanda," I said more firmly and watched as she simply reached for the bottom of her shirt and pulled it up over her head. Her hands went to her skirt next, letting it slide to the floor before standing there in her bra and panties, looking at me. "All of them," I clarified and she reached behind her back for the clasp of her bra. Her breasts were small and high, the nipples an impossibly light pink. Her hands went into the waist of her panties, quickly shoving them down and stepping out of them. She stood up straight, lifting her chin to imply she wasn't embarrassed, but I could see her visibly swallow hard. "Good girl," I said and her eyes darted to the floor, but I saw the smile. Girls loved that fucking phrase. It didn't matter how old they were. They all wanted to be good girls.

  "What now?" she asked, shrugging a shoulder.

  "Come here," I said and she slowly walked toward me, stopping when her bare feet touched the tips of my boots. I reached out for her breasts, rubbing my thumbs over the peaks until they were hard against my hands. Her eyes got smaller, heavy lidded as she looked up at

  my face. "Get on your knees," I said quietly and her eyes got wide.

  "What?"

  "Get. On. Your. Knees."

  And then she did, slowly, lowering herself down onto the floor in front of me and sitting back on her heels. It took her a long minute to look up at me from that position, but we weren't going to doing anything else until she did. I reached for my shirt, pulling it up over my head and tossing it to the floor. Her eyes slid down over my chest and stomach, taking in the muscles I owed countless hours working out to. Her eyes rested on the waist of my jeans and I reached down, popping the button and sliding the zipper own. I paused for the barest of seconds before pushing them down to the floor, watching as my cock sprang out hard and expectant toward her face.

  My hand slid down to the back of her neck, sliding up into her hair and pulling slightly until her eyes looked up to mine. "Well it ain't gonna suck itself," I said and she surprised me by letting out a strangled laugh, then tilting her head up slightly, and opening her mouth wide.

  An invitation. And fuck if it wasn't one of the hottest things she could have done. My free hand slid to the base of my cock while I quickly pushed her head forward, slipping in between her lips and into her welcoming mouth. I slammed her face down hard and fast, hearing her gag slightly as my cock hit the back of her throat. Her hands went up to brace herself on my hips, to keep a little bit of control.

  I held her there for a minute, letting her gag reflex settle, before sliding my hand to casually rest at the base of her skull. "Look up at me," I said and her eyes slowly lifted to mine, my cock holding her mouth fully open, her eyes watering slightly from the foreign sensation. But there was desire there, a desire to get me off, to suck me until I came hard and hot down her throat. That was what I wanted, more than the act itself. I wanted her to want to do it. I wanted her to want to please me. "You want to taste my cum don't you?" I asked, massaging the back of her neck.

  "Mmmhmm," she said, her mouth vibrating around my cock and sending a shock of desire down my legs.

  "Not tonight," I said, pulling quickly out of her mouth, reaching down and grabbing her, then throwing her none-too-gently onto the bed.

  She pushed herself up the bed toward the pillows, wiping her lips and watching as I slid a condom on. Expectant. Excited.

  I let out a low chuckle as I crawled slowly up the bed. She had no fucking idea what she was in for.

  Four

  Cordelia

  I had been patient. I mean even more patient than would be expected of me. The first night, well, you know... you gotta ignore it. So what the person in the room next door was having loud, obnoxious sex with a girl who screamed like a damn porn star? Everyone needed a good lay every once and a while. And it wasn't all that late at night. The fact that I was in bed by seven was just a sad testament to my own lameness.

  The second night I could excuse because, well, after a night like the first one sounded, who wouldn't want a part two? Except when I was being a total creep and watching the woman leave a few hours later, she wasn't the same young brunette from the night before. She was an older... actually I'd say a middle aged attractive blond in a business suit.

  The third night was a weekend so even though it was super late, I pretneded I wasn't getting grouchy from not getting enough sleep. It was my own fault that I had such a hard time falling asleep. It
was the inn's fault that the walls were so poorly insulated. That night was another brunette, somewhere between the ages of the other two women with huge hipster glasses and super tight skinny jeans. Almost geeky. Which I found intriguing.

  Apparently he was an equal opportunity manwhore.

  No wonder he was threatening to sleep with me. He slept with everyone. There was nothing special about that declaration. It was absolutely ridiculous that I had spent more than a minute or two thinking that it did. My personality generally didn't run toward vanity. It was weird of me to think that I was somehow special. Maybe that was just a testament to how good he was, how skilled a flirt.

  But it was Monday night and I hadn't had a decent night of sleep in five nights. It is also three in the morning and I was done making excuses for him like: he works at a bar and he gets out of work after two in the morning, of course he had to wait until after then to have sex.

  I need to stop being so accommodating.

  And I was getting really, really grumpy.

  On the other side of my wall, someone's head was banging against the headboard which was banging against the wall with enough force to make my own headboard rock ominously. I got up out of the bed in my light blue silk pajama pants and matching long sleeved, button up shirt and paced the floor for a minute. It had already been going on for over forty-five minutes. It couldn't possibly last much longer. The poor girl was probably chapped. But she just kept on moaning out, sounding almost like crying and begging mixed together.

  I was not, was absolutely not, thinking about the insufferable and stupidly good looking guy doing all the banging. I wasn't thinking about the muscles that I was sure were hidden underneath those jeans and t-shirts he wore all the time. I wasn't thinking about the muscles in his arms flexing, making his red and black tattoos twist and move. I wasn't thinking about what kind of equipment he must have been packing to make so many women scream like that.