by Rylee Swann
Home feels way lonelier than I want it to. I turn on some music, and it still feels empty. I have a nice, off-campus apartment, but like Mia is fond of saying, it’s lifeless. I maintain that it’s just neat and orderly, two things she isn’t at all familiar with, but she’s right. There isn’t any art on the plain, white walls. It’s just sterile.
Feeling a little depressed, I decide that a bubble bath and glass of wine is in order. Soft music, candles. Sometimes, a girl needs to treat herself as if she was dating herself is the advice my aunt gave me back in high school. I stick to it to this day. Date yourself. Take yourself out. Pamper yourself, even with small, inexpensive things. It makes being single bearable.
As I sink into the steamy water, fragrant bubbles tickling my chin, I wonder if knowing that Rob has a new girlfriend bothers me. I don’t think so. I don’t miss him like that. Maybe I miss having someone around at times like these, but that isn’t fair to Rob, and it feels dishonest. No, it isn’t that.
I know what it is, I just don’t want to admit it. I want him. Cole. I think of his rough hands and his smoldering, stormy blue eyes. Half a bottle of wine later, and I can’t stop thinking about his thick, hard cock. I love the way he smells, even love the way he tastes.
I know, too, that I can’t have a repeat performance, but I’m going to allow myself to indulge in fantasy. I think of him ordering me onto my hands and knees, his firm, hard body completely nude, every muscle taut. He makes me spread my legs wider so he can look at me, all of me. I feel so vulnerable, even in this fantasy, but that’s what I want. I want to be open and raw and bare before someone.
Someone who knows what they’re doing. I picture his rough hands on my ass, spreading my cheeks as he dips his head in, breathing in my scent before lapping at my pussy. His tongue is firm and warm and wet, and he knows just how to use it. He starts light and teasing, just flicking the tip of his tongue against me.
I moan, the visual too perfect. Perfect because it’s just what I want. I can feel myself getting so turned on. When my phone dings and breaks my reverie, I want to pitch it across the room. It’s sitting on a small chair by the tub. I dry my hands off and see that I’ve received another email from Cole. This time, it makes me blush. Oh, if only he knew what I’ve been thinking.
A big part of me wants him to know. I want to email back that I’ve been fantasizing about him licking my pussy while I’m on all fours. I know such a message would appear desperate, but I don’t care. I want to be desperate and needy. I want him to come and show me that I’m not wrong, that he wants me but is just scared for whatever reason.
He asks for my address for the interview. I reply and figure he’ll tell me a time and date later, but another message doesn’t come. I go back to enjoying my bath, though the moment is gone. Reality has put a damper on my fantasy. In reality, he rejected me, and there isn’t anything sexy about that. It just makes me feel sad and pathetic. Surely, I can find another guy to be with.
Depressed now, I finish off my wine and step out of the tub, pulling on my favorite bathrobe. I plan on watching some trashy television with a pint of ice cream, but there’s a knock at the door.
My heart leaps in my chest.
Is it him? Did I miss an email or not read the last one carefully enough? I look down at my thin, silk robe, touch my hair. God, I don’t want him to see me like this.
The knock comes again, louder this time, and I give up. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m a little annoyed with myself for getting so flustered at the very thought of Cole coming to my place.
Placing both hands on the door, I lift onto my tip toes to look through the peephole. I’m not that short, but whoever built my apartment must have been a giant. All I can see is a man’s back. He’s tall, dark haired, wearing a leather jacket. I have the chain on the door, so I crack it open. A girl can never be too careful.
He turns around and I’m right… it’s Cole, surprising me. Maybe that is part of the attraction. I don’t know what to expect from him. Unlike Rob, who’d been so painfully predictable.
“Hey,” he says, voice gruff. He looks exhausted. He has dark circles around his eyes and a couple days worth of stubble. I’m momentarily struck dumb. How do guys manage to look so sexy when unkempt?
“Oh… um, I didn’t know you were coming over now,” I manage to say.
He shrugs. “Gonna open the door? It’s fucking freezing out here.” He has his hands jammed in his pockets, a scowl on his face.
And in record time, he manages to annoy me, push my buttons. With a huff, I unlatch the chain and let him in. He lingers in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over me. It’s an invasive look that makes me flush, and I want to tug my robe tighter… or take it off. I can’t decide.
“I didn’t know you were coming over now,” I repeat like a fool, unable to meet his gaze. I hope that my annoyed tone conveys the message loud and clear. I don’t appreciate the visit.
“That explains the robe,” he says, dark humor touching his tone.
I really don’t want to find that as charming as I do. “Make yourself at home, I guess,” I say a little surlier than I intend. “Want some wine?”
He blows out a breath and slings his jacket over the arm of the couch before flopping down on it. “Got any beer?”
I wrinkle my nose. “No. Wine or water. Pick one.”
When I finally feel brave enough to look at him, I catch him staring at my legs. It’s a nice ego boost, but I remind myself that I really need to behave. Finally, his eyes make it to mine, lingering on my body along the way.
“Fine,” he mutters.
I assume that means he wants wine too, so I get a couple glasses and pour them both nearly to the brim. I sit across from him in the big, comfy chair I usually use for studying, the coffee table between us. I think it’s a good, safe distance. I know that if I sit on the couch, the temptation will be too great. It’s hard enough as it is, but he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t want a repeat of last night, even if his eyes say otherwise.
For a moment, I imagine sitting next to him. I think of how it would feel to run my hands up his thighs and… nope. No. I have to stop. I take in a deep, steadying breath and look away.
“So…” I say, trying to break the tension. “You’re going to do the interview?” There is always a little thrill that accompanies interviewing someone. I love that moment when people open up, and you really get to know them. I don’t want to admit it, but I want to know more about him.
He rolls his eyes as though it’s the first time I’m making the request. “I guess. But you need to do something for me.” It isn’t a request, it’s a demand. His arrogance is astounding.
“What?” I ask, just as snappy as I intend on being.
He runs his tongue over his teeth and puts his feet up on my coffee table. Was he raised in a damn barn? “I’m having some trouble in a couple of my classes.” A flash of hurt crosses his face. Or is it embarrassment? Yes, that’s it. He looks ashamed and defensive, shoulders hunched down, making him seem like a little boy. His brow is drawn low, and I can tell he’s a powder keg about this particular subject. I wonder if it’s hard to ask me for help, which is why he made it a demand instead of a request. As a reporter, I have to read between the lines a lot. People say things, but sometimes, it’s the things they don’t say that can be the most meaningful.
“So… you need some help?” I ask, my tone gentle this time. He isn’t being a dick to me on purpose. I get that now.
“I guess,” he says. “I’ve been really busy, you know? I don’t have time for this shit. Coach makes us train constantly. It’s a lot of pressure.” He runs his hand over his eyes and leans back. I notice the bruises on his arms as well as a swollen finger and wondered if he’s always this beat up during the season.
It’s like having a tiger in my living room. He’s docile right now, but I never know when he’s going to snap and attack. Something about that is alluring. I can’t put my finger on it.
�
�I’ll help. You don’t need to hold the interview over my head, you know. I’d have done it regardless.” I hate how nice I sound. I should want to be cruel to him. Cole deserves it for treating me like shit.
Not that I want to admit that, not even to myself, but it’s true. His rejection stung. He flashes a look at me, his eyes narrow. What? Does he not believe me? I narrow my eyes right back.
“I would,” I insist.
He shrugs it off and downs his wine in a gulp. “Whatever.”
I can’t hold in my temper any longer. I’m trying to be understanding, but his callous disregard hurts. I fly out of my chair and stand before him, hands on my hips. I can feel my face grow hot. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” I say. “Demanding my help after the way you treated me? I ought to throw your ass out of here.” For a moment, I have the brief victory of him looking surprised. That victory is quickly squashed when he looks amused.
He sneers up at me, laughing. Mocking. “You won’t do that. You need that article.”
Tit for tat, I sneer too. “I don’t need it that bad.”
He stands, sucking on his teeth, towering over me. “Do it then. Throw me out.” His physical presence is intimidating, but I’m used to guys being way bigger than me. I’m not going to be cowed if that’s what he’s expecting. I have a feeling he needs my help way more than I need his. I have the advantage here, I remind myself.
Something about the way he looks at me sends a delicious shiver over my skin. He looks hungry. He looks like he’s getting off on our argument. And if I’m being honest, I’m getting off on it too, but that doesn’t change the fact that he can’t come in my house and be a jerk. I won’t stand for it.
“You should apologize to me, or I won’t help you. I can always find some other meathead to interview. You’re not the only one.” I smirk as the insult takes hold. It shouldn’t have felt good to hurt him back, and I’m sure I’ll feel bad about it later, but right now, it feels fair. He humiliated me, so maybe he should have a taste of his own medicine and realize how bitter it is.
His face reddens, and his eyes burn into me. It’s the same storm brewing I saw in the bar. It’s a buildup of pressure, a tense feeling in the air right before lightning strikes.
“Shut up,” he hisses.
“No. I will not shut up!” I shout. I can’t think of the last time I’ve raised my voice at anyone. It feels good. I’m riding the wave of my anger and lashing out instead of just turning the other cheek and being the more mature person. I sink right down to his level and wallow in it.
So, he shuts me up. He’s on his feet in a flash, fisting his hand in the front of my robe and yanking me against him. His lips crash down on mine as his other hand drops down to my hip to press me fully against his body. I’m stunned but soon enough return the kiss, my tongue seeking out his mouth.
His kiss is deep and demanding, his touch rough, pinching. I don’t care. The bite of pain is delicious. I like the passionate, possessive way he touches me. He makes me feel like I belong to him, every part of me. I run my nails down his chest hard enough that I’m sure I make marks through his t-shirt. I want it to hurt a little. I want to make him gasp and moan and want just as badly as I want.
Cole’s other hand jerks my robe open, and his hand covers my breast. He kneads it roughly, fingers flicking over my hard nipple. I moan into his mouth. I’m quickly approaching the place where I won’t be able to resist anymore. Even now, it’s just a far away, dim alarm bell. He’s here for the interview. It’s hopeless, even as I protest inside my mind. I’ve had a chance to salvage this, to be professional. I know it’s dangerous to mess around with Cole.
But when he jerks the robe off my body and tosses it aside before pressing me against the wall of the living room, I know it’s over. Whatever resistance I have melts away under the assault of his passionate kisses. I throw my arms around his neck and arch my back when he touches me. I’m so wet, I’m a little embarrassed. He’ll know. I won’t be able to hide how much I want him, have been wanting him all night. His fingers deftly work my slit, flicking over the nub of my clit while he abandons my mouth to close his lips over a nipple.
My body sings under his touch, rising to meet it. It’s like he knows exactly how to touch me. There isn’t any awkward fumbling. Everything he does lights me on fire. I can’t get enough.
Sucking hard, Cole slides a finger inside me. He moans in appreciation while I gasp, squirming against the wall. I need more, but he doesn’t seem intent on hurrying. He’s going to tease me.
With a slick pop, he releases my nipple and glowers down at me. When Cole speaks, his voice is rough with desire and passion. I know he means every word he says. And once more, he is a man who expects to be obeyed, and whether I want to admit it or not, I want to fulfill his every desire. I’ve never had a man speak to me the way Cole does. Like he really wants me.
“You’re going to beg for this dick,” he tells me. “On your hands and knees. You’re going to say please. And just maybe, if I like the way you beg, I’ll give it to you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cole
I know better than to be doing this with her again, but her anger stirs something I can’t name inside me. I want her, and who wouldn’t? She’s so damn gorgeous. Her eyes flash, and her cheeks turn red. She’s so pissed at me. I can’t blame her.
I guess I tried pushing her away by being a dick, but I’d be lying if I said the idea of her on her knees, begging to suck me off isn’t something I want. She wants it too. I know it the moment I say it. Her lips part, and she gasps a little, but I know it isn’t from shock or anger. It’s lust, and it paints her face in beautiful colors.
“Beg,” I practically snarl, my lips brushing against her ear. She smells so damn good, like peaches and honey, like an expensive drink that’s too sweet. I bet she tastes sweet too. I want to find out. I’m quickly losing any resolve to end this. Hell, I can’t, not with her looking at me that way.
Becca whimpers, licking her lips. “Please,” she whispers.
My hand is still fisted in her silky hair, and I yank a little harder. Not enough to actually hurt her, but enough that she knows I mean business. “Please what?”
A trembling breath leaves her, and she closes her eyes, her face looking almost pained. “Pl-please let me suck you.”
Those are the magic words, and I nearly lose it right then and there. I stiffen immediately, my cock straining the front of my jeans. I’m so hard it actually hurts. Aches. I want her. No, I need her. “Suck what?” I ask, tugging her a little closer by her hair. My other hand circles her delicate, graceful neck. I give it a little squeeze. I have to remain in control. She’s the type of woman a man can fall for without realizing it. That’s the power she doesn’t even know she has. It pisses me off. It’s like I don’t even have a choice or say in the matter.
Her pink, wet tongue flicks out over her lips again. “Suck your cock,” she says, making sure I have no doubt, no question in where this is going.
I push her to her knees, my hand leaving her neck to drop to her smooth, bare shoulder. I still have her by the hair. Oh, the way she looks up at me, hungry and wanting, that is the kind of thing that makes me crazy. “Take out my dick,” I command, needing more than her yearning.
Becca doesn’t say a word and is clearly eager to comply. She reaches up and undoes my belt with a metallic click. Slowly, she pulls down my zipper. I can tell by the way her eyes sparkle that she’s going slow on purpose. She isn’t scared or shy, she’s tormenting me.
A part of me wants to take her right then and there, push her onto her back, spread her legs and fuck that cocky look right off her face, but I earned this, I remind myself. I earned her teasing. I’ve been an asshole. We both know it. I’ve let her have this, her little teasing.
When my cock is free, it takes everything I have not to moan. Instead, I grab my dick by the base, hold her a little away from it by her hair and then rub the shaft against her cheek. “You want it, don�
��t you?” I ask, my turn to be cocky.
“Yes,” she hisses, narrowing her eyes up at me.
“Open your mouth,” I say, my voice rough and so full of desire that I barely recognize it. I both love and hate what she does to me. It doesn’t seem fair.
Becca opens her mouth, extending her tongue.
“For a good girl, you sure like being my slut.” My lips pull into a crooked grin. In truth, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
She just nods, her eyes fixed on me, mouth open wide to receive what she wants.
Becca
All the anger I feel toward Cole flees when I sink to my knees, and all I want to do is what he tells me. I shudder as he drags his hard shaft down my cheek, and I don’t think twice when he tells me to open my mouth. I do exactly as I’m told.
I know Cole is a bad boy. I know this doesn’t mean we’re together. I don’t even know if this is what I want. But when he growls at me and tells me what to do, something inside of me is only too happy to comply. I don’t understand this side of myself at all.
Everyone always tells you what kind of man you want. He must be gentle, kind, soft, but that isn’t what I want. I want a man with passion and fire. A man who knows how to touch me, how to get me on my knees, ready and eager to do anything he wants. Somehow, Cole has found a way to tap into this desire, and I can’t get enough.
I want him to want me too. I want him to be sorry for what an asshole he’s been. I’m going to suck his cock so good that he’ll never be able to move on and forget me. I swallow him the moment the tip of his dick hits my tongue. I taste him, the bead of precum, salty and a little sweet. I want more.
I love how he looks when my lips close around his hard shaft. He hisses through his teeth, his hand tightening its hold on my hair. God, it feels so good, that little sting of pain mixed in with my arousal. I’m so wet that I ache. No man has ever made me feel this way. I didn’t believe it was possible.
Cole forces me to take every last inch of his thick length. When he hits the back of my throat, I just swallow his flesh. I work my throat tight around his dick and press my tongue against the underside of his shaft. Lifting my hands, I cup his balls and roll them in my palm while my other hand curls around him, stroking as I suck.
