Sweetest Sin: Bad Boy Bundle

by Delilah Wilde

Then he groans.

  Louder.

  His cock plunges deeper.

  Before long, he’s drilling into me. Thrusting every inch of his cock into my throbbing hole. Faster. My hips rise to meet his every stroke.

  He wraps his arm around my leg. Pulling my knee up over his shoulder. Still driving his cock deep into me. The new angle sends me over the edge. My orgasm bubbles up with almost no warning. In seconds, the power of my orgasm brings him to the same edge.

  He groans.

  And breaths.

  Grinding his cock into my pussy.

  Until the force of his orgasm brings him to jelly.

  He pats his lips across my face and jaw. Kissing every inch before thrusting his tongue back into my mouth.

  The taste of my juices still drip from his tongue. Bringing me to thrust just one more time.

  We both stop, a tangled mess of nerves and jellied muscles. Our chests heaving under deep breaths.

  I’m not sure if the cum drained all the energy out of me or if my lack of sleep finally caught up with me. But in no time, I fell asleep right there.

  Naked. And sated.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I wake up the next morning in the same position as I had fallen asleep in. Sprawled out on my back. Naked.

  I smile and stretch before sitting up.

  Where did he go? I wonder.

  I glance around the room. Coffee is sitting in the coffee pot. Obviously cold from having sat all night. Jackson’s condom lay in the garbage can. But there’s no other sign of him at all.

  His bags and clothes are gone.

  I step into my jeans and pull my shirt over my head.

  Since I never bothered unpacking anything, I don’t have to rush around this time trying to get ready to go to the airport. I check my cellphone. I still have five hours before my flight leaves.

  He probably went to go get some breakfast or something I convince myself. After all, for nearly a week he has been around. I have no reason to believe he would simply disappear now.

  A couple hours pass and I start to pace. How much longer should I wait for him? I skip my shower for fear that he might return without a key and I can’t hear him. Maybe he did disappear.

  Now all sorts of thoughts race through my mind. Reasons he might have to disappear. Everything from he was getting too close to he’s married.

  Every excuse in the world.

  But it doesn’t matter anymore. I only have a couple hours left. And I still have to eat.

  I change into a new shirt and drag my bags back out into the hallway. Unlike yesterday, this time I’m going to make sure I get checked out in time.

  And I’m checking around, hoping to catch Jackson’s eye before it’s too late and I miss him. Still no sign of him.

  Pretty soon, the excuses my thoughts are lending him are fading into thoughts of anger. Fuck him. Who the fuck does he think he is, anyway? What kind of asshole just ups and leaves like that?

  After checking out of the hotel, I stand outside by the front doors. Glancing up and down the street. My eyes catching the gaze of every person as he or she leaves the hotel. Watching every person walking by.

  “You need a ride to the airport, Ma’am?” the shuttle driver asks me.

  I sigh and check the time again.

  Fuck. “Yea,” I finally admit defeat and accept the ride.

  He smiles and places my bags into his van and I climb into the front seat.

  I stare into traffic all the way to the airport. Every mile drives my heart deeper into the ground. You’re so stupid, Kirsten. You went and fell for him anyway. All that time telling yourself not to, and you went and did it anyway. Congratufuckinglations, dumbass. You’re a fucking meme.

  My harsh words cut deep. Even though they come from me. By the time I’ve finished checking into my flight and reach the gate, I convince myself I don’t want anything to do with Jackson again.

  I hope he’s not there.

  Chapter Twenty

  A trip to the gift shop results in a new notepad and pen. And I put them both to use right away. I should have done this all along. Rather than running around with Jackson or hopping at a party, I should have been writing. But one good thing is coming of everything. I have a lot of good materials to use and write some great stories. And these thoughts, the memories, they keep me writing and distracted right on through until the announcement that they are boarding my flight comes out over the speakers.

  And I can load up and get on the plane.

  My seat in first class is comfortable, but nothing like what I expected. Still, it’s quiet. And the flight attendant helps me get my bag stowed in the overhead compartment.

  My nerves finally calm down as we establish our cruising altitude and I can get my laptop set up and start writing. A few minutes later, I lean my head back and close my eyes. Trying to recall the flight from Los Angeles to Thailand. How had everything started?

  “I still can’t believe they landed the plane,” I hear someone in the seat in front of me say.

  “I know. Right? And the worst part was, that guy didn’t even bother getting off the plane with me. He just left me there.”

  My mind races until it lands on the brief landing we made in Hawaii. Flashes of Jackson and the flight attendant run before my eyes.

  Of course.

  Jackson. The image of his hand running up the length of her leg had sent me to the bathroom reeling. But had the plane actually made an unscheduled stop simply because of the flight attendant having sex with Jackson in first class.?

  I glance around the cabin real quick to make sure I wasn’t sitting in the same seat. That is a level of irony I’m not sure I can appreciate.

  Nope. I’m safe.

  “So, what ended up happening? Did you get caught?”

  “No,” she says between giggles. “Oh my God. Lisa. You have no idea. That guy was just. Oh my God he was amazing. And strong. And his fingers.”

  I roll my eyes, glad that the high seats block their vision of me. Is that really what women sound like when they talk to each other about their exploits? Is that what I sound like? I try to think back to the last time I talked to any of my female friends about a sexual encounter. No conversations come to mind.

  “He has this way of twisting his wrist, so his thumb rubs right along from one side to the other,” she continues.

  Lisa replies with giggles of her own. I’m starting to wonder if I shouldn’t be ordering water to spritz on them and cool them off.

  “Then we decided to move up to the bathroom.”

  “Oh my God, Renee. Did you fuck some guy in the bathroom?”

  “No. But I wanted to. We were just about to get started when Alice came to get me. She yelled into the bathroom that she had to talk to me right away. When I stepped out of the bathroom, that’s when I found out they were landing the plane.”

  “Why did they land the plane?”

  “Because the lady sitting in front of him complained that she couldn’t recline her seat. When I was, you know, I put a knee defender up so that she wouldn’t be able to recline and shove my head down onto his…well, you know. And anyway she complained. And I was hoping to get back into the bathroom so I could, well. You know. So I admitted that I placed the knee defender there. And next thing I knew, she was throwing her drink on me and Alice was telling me they were going to land the plane to escort us both off.”

  “You’re kidding. That has to be a joke. That can’t be real.”

  “You can’t make this shit up. Those knee defenders. They’re serious about that ban. Anyway, when I got back to the bathroom, he was already gone. I thought he would follow me off the plane so we could finish what we started. But he just took his seat. And Alice never gave me the chance to talk to him before escorting me off the plane. I was stuck in Hawaii for three days before they finally let me on another plane to Thailand. And I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Oh man. You have the craziest stories.”

  “Just w
ait. There’s a guy back in coach…. If he plays his cards right, I might get a new story out of him.”

  I nod my head and smirk as my fingers work magic on the keyboard. I make a couple scribbles onto my notepad to remind myself to look up what a knee defender is. And then keep typing away.

  The conversation between Renee and Lisa keeps me typing for hours. By the time I’m finally tired enough to tuck my laptop away, I have several chapters written out and only two hours to get in a nap before we land.

  Of course, and as expected, the airport in Los Angeles is running in complete chaos. Baggage claim is a nightmare. And yet, for some reason, I’m so glad to be home.

  At least, I’m happy until I realize that the suitcase I checked is missing. “Great,” I mutter as I head over to the customer service counter with my carry-on bags.

  The bad day he’s having is written all over the man behind the customer service counter. He’s staring at papers on the counter, speaking at monotone levels. Barely uttering the obligatory have a nice day to the droves of people yelling at him for their lost luggage.

  I step up to the counter, and with as much politeness and manners as I can muster, I fill out the form and hand over my ID so the man can begin the process of searching. With hardly a word, he signs the form, slams a rubber stamp onto it, and slides the form back over to me.

  “Thank you,” I mumble.

  “Yep,” he answers as he waves the person behind me up.

  The taxi ride back to my apartment is filled with idle chatter. I’m starting to wonder whether or not the cab driver will ever take the hint that I just don’t feel all that talkative right now. Still, he doesn’t let my silence ruin his engrossing conversation.

  A week’s worth of dust and grime wait to greet me at my home. And in a couple of hours, the sun would be high enough to illuminate it all for me. I walk around the apartment, pulling drapes and swatting the dust in the air away from my face. Before long, I give up on the battle and plug my electronics into the outlets. With the push of a few buttons, my coffee maker is programmed to start and I hit the bed.

  By the time I wake up again, I’m in a fog. Have I lost hours or days? I stretch the pain out of my muscles. Crack my joints. And roll out of bed. The coffee in my coffee pot is already brewed and cold.

  “Fuck,” I whisper and pour the dead coffee down the drain. John would yell at you for that. “Yea, well. John’s not here.” Besides, it doesn’t take that long to brew a fresh pot of coffee.

  Walking around the apartment, every bag and packed suitcase reminds me of the fight we had. Hard to believe it was just barely a week ago.

  The television is still smashed against the wall where he left it. His clothes are still strewn haphazardly across the floor where I threw them. The autographed picture of him with his favorite football player is still smashed and torn.

  I’m starting to think it would just be easier to move than to bother cleaning everything up. Perhaps instead of throwing him out I should have let him throw me out.

  Just as I’m about to sit down at the computer with my coffee, my front door begins to echo in thuds. I sneak over to the door and peak out of the peep hole.

  Speak of the devil.

  I turn my back to the door and pinch the bridge of my nose. I thought I would have more time before I had to deal with him. I thought I would have more time before I had to deal with just about anything.

  A week. It’s amazing how short and how long a week can feel at the same time.

  More thumping on the door. “Come on Kirsten. Open up. I know you’re there. I could see your shadow hit the peep hole.

  “Damn it,” I whisper as I go to unlock the door. “What do you want, John?”

  “I just want to talk to you.”

  “I think we talked enough. Don’t you?”

  “I still don’t even know what happened, Kirsten. I mean what the fuck. You just snap. Come home from work one day, freak out and kick me out of our home. Then take off for a week. No. I don’t think we talked enough. If I thought we talked enough then I would know what the fuck happened and I wouldn’t feel like I was being left in the fucking dark.”

  I roll my eyes and stare at my feet. Running my toes along the bottom of the door frame. I can’t tell if he’s feigning ignorance or if he really doesn’t know that what he did was so very wrong. Either way, I didn’t have the patience or the desire to explain it to him.

  “John, if you don’t know, then you obviously weren’t listening. I’m tired. I’m jet lagged. Can’t we just do this some other time?”

  “No,” he says as he pushes past me. “My clothes are still here.”

  While John’s talking, my cellphone starts ringing. I check the screen. Felicia. Can this day get any worse?

  John stomps through the apartment. Throwing some of his clothes into a bag. The whole time spitting out swears.

  “Could you just keep it down? Please?”

  “Seriously? You’re going to take a phone call. Now? Anything you can do to avoid me, huh?”

  I roll my eyes and answer the phone. “Hello?”

  “Kirsten! You’re back in town! Listen. I’m not going to pressure you or anything. I just wanted to know if you would meet me for lunch. That’s it. No questions, no shop talk. Just one friend meeting another friend for lunch.”

  I bite my lip and stare at John as he yanks a garbage bag out of the kitchen and whips it in the air. Swear words still pouring from his mouth.

  “Is that John?”

  “Yea.”

  “Oh shit. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? Because I can have someone at your place in just a few minutes.”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  “Kirsten. I know I’m not your favorite person right now. But I was there when you got home from that campus. Okay? I know how scared you were and I know how upset you were that John—.”

  “Stop pretending. Okay? Just. I know. Okay?”

  “You. You know what? I’m confused.”

  “Well, keep playing dumb. Okay? But I know. I know exactly why John wasn’t there. Because he was busy boffing you.”

  “I uh. Um.” Felicia tripped over her words.

  “Yea. Not my favorite person doesn’t even begin to cover it.” I hang up the phone and glare across the room at John. He’s stopped rushing through the apartment and now he’s just staring at me. His mouth stuck open.

  “Jesus. Kirsten, I—.”

  “I don’t know why you think I want to hear from you any more than I want to hear from her.” I interrupted. “Get your shit and get the fuck out.”

  “I didn’t know you knew about—.”

  “Get. Out.” I whisper. “I don’t have the energy or the patience to talk to you about what we knew or didn’t know. You came here for your shit. So grab it and just get out. Please. Now.”

  Notifications on my cellphone start blowing up. Apparently, word has gotten out that I am back in town, and now everyone is trying to reach me. I ignore the vibrating phone and walk into the kitchen for more coffee.

  Of course, I’m not sure there is enough coffee in the world to prepare me for this day. I’m starting to wish I stayed in Thailand.

  I wonder what kind of life I could have if I stayed there. I could have started over.

  John takes in a deep breath and walks over to me. “Kirsten,” his voice is mellow and smooth. “Kirsten, we’ve been together for three years.”

  “And yet, that wasn’t enough for you.”

  “Okay. I made a mistake.”

  “Oh, is that what you’re calling it? A mistake? Where were you trying to put your dick when you mistakenly put it into her? Huh? What, were you aiming for the toilet and fell into her?”

  “No. Come on, that’s not fair. You know that’s not what I mean.”

  “I’m not trying to be fair. I don’t owe you fair. In fact, I don’t owe you shit.”

  “I know. Kirsten,” he says and wraps his arms
around me. Personifying the exact reason I hate my tear ducts.

  They fly into overdrive whenever I’m angry, and people assume I’m hurt because of how close to tears I can come.

  But his chest and his heartbeat are familiar and comfortable. I let him hold me for a few minutes, relishing the warmth.

  The rhythm of his heart.

  “Kirsten. I never should have met with Felicia. Okay? She said she wanted to talk to me about you. I thought. I don’t know. You were so unhappy with the stories she was sending you on. I thought I could use my influence to get her to give you better stories. But there was wine, and talking, and—.”

  “And what. You just couldn’t control yourself? Your dick grew a mind of it’s own?” I ask as I pull away.

  “Oh come on, don’t be snarky. Kirsten. Three years. Three years we’ve been together. I always believed we could get through anything. I still believe that. But we have to talk about it if we want to get through it. We have to fight for it. I’ll do anything. Anything. You want to go to counseling? Marriage classes? You want me to beg? I’ll do it. Just please. Don’t just throw me out without talking to me about it.

  “You want to talk about? Okay. Okay that’s fine. We can talk about it.” I walk into the kitchen and pull a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “Tell me. What was she like? How was she? Did you woo and romance her? Or did you just get straight down to the dirty business?”

  John scoffs and shakes his head. “This isn’t cute, Kirsten.”

  “I’m not trying to be cute. So. Come on. You want to talk about it? Fine. Let’s talk about it. Was there foreplay? Did she suck your dick first? Or did you just skip straight to the fucking?”

  “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” John says as he steps toward the door.

  “Like what? How am I being? You’re not pissed off that I’m asking these questions. You’re pissed off because your secret came out despite how well you were trying to keep it from me. You’re pissed off because you thought your secret was safe and now you know it wasn’t. Because before now you could hang on to some belief that I survived the shooting and broke up with you because I was weak. And now you have to face facts that I broke up with you because you couldn’t keep your dick to yourself. Because you allowed that person who pretended to be my friend to send me to that place. Because I had to be there in the first place just so you could go and dip your dick into the town slut. Because—.”