Unsocial

by Dykes, Nicole

  Our dinner conversation soon turns to flirtatious stares and touches. Dessert gets passed up because we can’t wait anymore. I quickly pay the bill and escort her back to the elevators. We are joined on the ride up by an elderly couple, so I settle with a light hold on her back, but I can feel the tremble in her body. I know it’s not nerves because the look she has on her face when she looks up at me is all arousal. It’s so raw and primal that my own need ramps up, and if we make it out of our clothes after the door closes behind us, it’ll be a fucking miracle. I’m fine either way. As long as I can get in her I’m good. The next half dozen or more times I’ll slow things down and treat her better. Something tells me she won’t give a shit any more than I do if we’re naked or not. There is no doubt that our sexual attraction rivals the other. As much as I crave her, she craves me right back. And that’ll make a man fall in love.

  As soon as we’re back in our room I’m proven correct about the whole clothes thing. Brooke immediately grabs my shirt and starts pulling it from my slacks so she can get to the skin of my torso. My hands seek the skin of her thighs so they can glide up to grasp her, holy shit, no panties. Oh, this naughty, naughty girl. I lift her by her bare ass, and she wraps her legs around me so I can take us to bed. “If I had known your ass was bare all night, trust me, dinner would have ended after the appetizers.”

  She kisses my neck and laughs shakily, “You like?”

  “Fuck, yeah. Rule number one, Brooke doesn’t wear panties on dates with Dylan.” I tell her sternly.

  “I can do that,” she promises huskily. Her hands go to my waist, and she starts working my button and zipper quickly. Once they’re open, she starts pushing boxers and all as far as she can, as desperate as I am to connect our bodies.

  First I connect our mouths because I can’t get enough of her taste. Right now it’s mingled with the taste of the champagne I ordered for us to celebrate the beginning of our relationship. See, I know how to be romantic.

  Our hands roam over and under clothes, touching and groping any part we can reach. When I slip my fingers between her wet folds, she moans and then pushes at me with a growl rolling me over onto my back so she can straddle my waist. She shoves my shirt as far up as she can before her lips make contact with one of my nipples. This hasn’t been anything that’s particularly turned me on in the past, but damn if Brooke’s hot little mouth and teeth don’t nearly make me come. Finally, she sits up straight and reaches for my cock, and I groan when she gives it a firm squeeze and tug.

  She raises up enough to align me up with her tight little hole and then slowly lowers. That alone is enough to make me bust a nut. It’s deeper for her this way, and taking me all the way in isn’t possible yet, but that doesn’t stop her from torturing me with leisure undulations and rotations of her hips. Her pussy is gripping me so tight it nearly hurts, and this isn’t going to take long. I need her to get there with me fast. Like I said before, there will be enough time for slow later.

  Right now I want to see her tits. “You like this dress, Brooke?”

  “Are you going to rip it off me?”

  “Planning on it. It’s in my way,” I tell her. I have it bunched just beneath her breasts where it fits too snuggly to push over, and I can’t find the fucking zipper.

  “Then no, I hate the damn thing. It’s so last year.”

  “Good answer,” I say before ripping it from the bottom up. Yes, no fucking bra. Have I mentioned that I have the hottest girlfriend ever? I sit up and slip deeper inside her making us both moan. The sensation of feeling her without a condom is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Every fucking stroke is better than the last, and every time her walls grip me it’s everything I can do to keep myself from coming inside her. I close my mouth around one of her hard nipples and suck hard which causes her to buck on my cock, so I do it again.

  “Dylan,” she screams. I love the sound of that. Both of my palms grip her ass to synchronize our movements which become erratic the closer we get to completion.

  “I’m almost there, Dylan. Don’t stop.” Finally, I feel her clamp down and shout my name so loud it echoes off the walls of the room. Music to my ears.

  And then I come shouting out, “Shit, Brooke.”

  Our bodies slow to a soft rock of our hips, milking our orgasms to the end. Her body goes lax against me, so I lower us back onto the bed taking her weight against my chest. She raises just enough to look down at me. Her smile is lazy and satisfied from our lovemaking. And when in the hell have I ever used that term?

  “I could go to sleep just like this,” she says.

  “And I say sleep is far over rated when we’re naked, and our bodies are touching,” I answer.

  She giggles. “Good point. But you still have your pants and shoes on.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Let’s take care of that now, and then we’ll take a shower. I want to see how dirty I can get you in there. It’s been a recurring fantasy of mine, you and me fucking under hot streaming water.”

  “Mmm, now that sounds really nice.”

  And I do make her dirty in the shower, twice. It’s after midnight before we fall back on the bed exhausted.

  Early Saturday morning, before the sun is even up, we are reaching for each other again. Luckily I booked the suite for two nights. It’s way past check-out time, and Brooke and I are lying naked together in the king sized hotel suite bed. Falling asleep together and just being here like this, wrapped up tight against each other, is just as good as having sex with her. Well, almost. There’s nothing like being balls deep in her.

  She traces the tattoo on my forearm with her finger, "I love this. Where did you have it done?"

  "A shop in Oklahoma. It's where I got most of them done."

  "I think they’re sexy and beautifully done.”

  I grin, "Tell me about your tattoo."

  She shrugs slightly, "It’s not as impressive as yours.”

  I laugh, "Uh huh." I lazily trace the sexy as fuck checkered flag below her naval. "This tattoo is fucking hot. How old were you?"

  She looks thoughtful, "I had just turned 17, the summer before my senior year."

  "Did your grandma go with you?"

  She laughs, "God no, she never knew I got it. She would have killed me for marking my body.”

  I smirk, "Hmm, well in the state of Kansas you have to have your guardian present."

  "That's true, but in the state of Missouri you just have to have signed, written consent."

  I shake my head, the more I find out about this girl, the more I like her because she keeps me on my toes with every little bit I learn about her. "Brooke Porter, did you forge your grandma's signature?"

  She grins, "I did,” she says proudly. “God, I was such a brat back then, but I really wanted it. I thought it made me a total badass.”

  "I like that you wanted it and just went for it. Like us.”

  She looks up at me with a big smile, like I just gave the right answer. "Well, it was during my "wild" phase. Maybe you’re bringing that back out, Dylan Monroe.”

  “Good, because I really, really like “wild” Brooke. So, why a checkered flag? I know you said you like going to the street races, did that have anything to do with it?”

  “I don’t know,” she says thoughtfully. “I guess one of my favorite parts of racing is watching them wave that checkered flag when the winner crosses the finish line. It gives me goosebumps every time. I told Adam about my idea, and we ended up just running with it. He loved the checked flag too because he was always the driver taking it. Well, until that Shelby came along. Anyway, he knew a guy in Missouri who had done his, so off we went to get them.”

  Them? Shriller? No fucking way, "He has the same one?"

  She nods, "Yeah, his is on his chest.”

  Breathe. Okay, breathe again. And again. Christ, who knew jealousy, would fucking feel like this. I need to check myself. Why would she keep a tattoo that matches her exes? Does she still love him? Fuck, I hate feeling lik
e this. I take a deep breath and ask in my calmest voice, "So you kept it all these years?"

  She looks at me curiously, because that was such a stupid question. "Yeah. Will hated it and called it trashy. He even offered several times to pay to have it removed, but I just couldn’t do it.”

  I hate having anything in common with that little weasel dick. Not that I think her ink is trashy. I just hate that Shriller has a matching one. She smoothes the frown on my lips. "Dylan, the tattoo has nothing to do with Adam. It’s just represents something that I love. I didn’t ask him to get one like I have. He hijacked the idea. This is all about racing and me having the guts to do something for myself. When I look at it, I remember being young and carefree and alive with so many possibilities ahead of me. When I was in my early teens, I went through a bad period in my life that I survived, and I came out on the other side determined to live life as fully as I can. So the checkered flag represents not only my love for racing but also me beating life."

  "That’s actually really deep. And I get that more than you know, and I also get why you would never want to remove it. What makes me happy is that Shriller had no influence on your decision.”

  She giggles and shakes her head, "No, my idea that he stole. Are you jealous?”

  I don't want to lie to her, not like it's a big deal, but I don't want to admit I'm jealous. I'm Dylan Monroe; I don't get jealous. "Maybe a little. I hate that he has a tie to you, even if it’s just a fucking tattoo. Those damn things are permanent.”

  "I'm just glad I didn't get his initials under it like he originally wanted me to."

  I growl at the thought of that. "Me too, because I would have your happy little ass getting that shit removed to-fucking-morrow.”

  She smiles and says in a sexy, teasing voice against my neck, “I like jealous, possessive Dylan. I've been jealous several times before we were even together."

  "Really? Of who? I don't have any exes."

  "No, but you have slept with a lot of girls. The first time you asked me to hang out with you, you had hickeys on your neck. Then Cassie told me about some girl that was all over you in Oklahoma; I wanted to find her and rip her hair out.”

  I can't help, but laugh. I had forgotten about the first girl she mentioned. God, that was so long ago, and so fucking stupid of me. What I really can’t believe though is that I’ve wanted the same woman for this long. As for the chick from Oklahoma, I wish that fuck up would go away. "That was Joy and trust me she’s a mistake that I’m doing my best to forget. She’s the one living in some fucked up denial after less than an hour together."

  I can feel her smiling against my neck before she pulls away to start tracing my tattoo on my neck. “And what about this one? Your mom?”

  I swallow before answering. I hate for our last few hours to get heavy with talk about my mom, but I don’t want to ignore her question. “Her initials. Her name was Rose Marie Monroe."

  She has a solemn look, and I reach up and softly touch her check. This is all so surreal; I’ve never just laid in bed with a woman and talked before. But I have to admit, it feels good to be here her. "How old were you when you got it?"

  “I was 15.”

  “And your dad let you get it?”

  “Hell, no. There’s no way he would have let me get a tattoo, especially not this one. She had been dead for about ten years, and one night I got drunk with a friend who was older than me. He knew an artist in KC, Missouri, who had done work for him and wouldn’t ask questions.”

  I feel her nod her head as she's listening, "It's not exactly in a place you can hide well, so I'm assuming your dad was angry."

  “Understatement of the fucking century.” A cold chill goes through me as I remember the fight we had when he saw it the next morning. "He was pissed, but Sylvia calmed him down. He threatened to make me remove it, but never actually followed through. Let’s just say every time he saw it though he let me know how much he disapproved.” I pause, I hate talking about the past, but I want to keep the open book policy with Brooke. “I wasn't allowed to talk about her."

  She smoothes her hand over my cheek, “Why, was her death really bad?”

  "She overdosed when I was 5, and I was the one who found her. Ever since that day, I was not allowed to mention her. So I guess her initials on my neck where he had to see it was a big "fuck you" to my dad."

  Brooke’s face doesn't convey pity as I expected. Instead, it's closer to empathy like she gets it. "I guess not having that closure as a child so that you would understand her death must have been difficult for you.”

  I shrug, "Honestly, as I get older and look back I think I was just a rebellious kid. He probably couldn't handle the pain of losing her, and I think he blamed himself because he couldn't stop her from doing it."

  "That could be right, but not being able to discuss it so that you could come to terms with it and heal would be difficult for anyone. Grief is a strange thing, and everyone reacts differently to it no matter what age they are, especially if you don’t get any help processing it. You’ve had your fair share of loss and pain."

  She continues softly stroking my cheek, soothing me. Offering me the therapy that drinking, countless unknown women, and fighting never accomplished. I turn us both, so she's lying on her back as I hover over her, my lips close to hers but not quite touching. I kiss her softly, and she smiles her beautiful bright smile. “Do you know how much you mean to me?”

  She shakes her head, and our lips buff slightly together as she speaks, “No.”

  “Everything,” I whisper.

  I feel her lips move against mine as she smiles. "Good because I'm in this 100%, and there’s no stopping the fall.”

  “Go ahead and fall, Brooke. I’ll always be here to catch you.”

  That thought doesn't scare me nearly as much as it should.

  Chapter 28

  Brooke

  Monday morning my alarm drags me from erotic dreams of Dylan. Leaving our hotel suite was so hard, but as the afternoon grew late we knew our brief time was coming to the end. After dinner from room service, he finally walked me to the underground parking garage to my car. Now it’s time for a new work week, and I don’t know if I’m ready just yet. I would love just to snuggle back under my warm covers and get lost back in my dreams, but instead, I sit up and turn my clock and stretch before pushing back the covers.

  When I got back Saturday evening, Alex and I opened a bottle of wine and spent the evening watching movies and chatting about work. It was great and long overdue, but my conscience was screaming at me the entire time. I had just spent a better portion of my weekend in a hotel with my new gorgeous boyfriend, and I couldn't even tell my best friend about it, and sometimes keeping the secret is difficult. His texts on Sunday helped soothe the uneasiness of lying to her because reading his words remind me that what we have is much deeper than a secret fling.

  During my shower, I think again of the conversation about Dylan’s mother and what he went through at such a young age. I don’t know a single adult that could have handled something like that. I never knew my parents, so I don’t think losing them would be as painful.

  My grandma raising me was all I ever knew. Occasionally it was obvious that my home life wasn't typical, like father-daughter dances or when my friends’ mom's brought treats to the holiday parties at school, but my grandma always came through and usually ended up being the life of the party and with the best tasting food.

  I also wonder about Dylan's relationship with his father. It’s been clear since I met Dylan that his relationship with his father was strained, and I wonder if it goes back to the death of his mother. I didn't want to push it because we have time for that. I smile as I apply lip gloss in the mirror. We have time. I love that.

  I’m anxious to see Dylan again tomorrow. I know we’re going to have to be careful around the kids because they’re smart. Luke is my biggest worry because he wouldn't hesitate to call us out if he thought something was going on. The very first meetin
g he called me out on my attraction to Dylan, and although he is a good kid at heart he’s still a moody teenage boy with some anger issues.

  Monday flies by since I don’t get a second to breathe. It was one thing after another, and when I finally got home at ten, I’m exhausted and end up climbing straight into bed. The only thing better than my warm sheets would be if Dylan were there to wrap me up.

  Tuesday is a little slower than Monday, but then isn’t that how every workweek goes? That’s why Mondays are a bitch. After meeting with a few clients I’m left with ample time to catch up on paperwork, and this will allow me time, so I don’t have to rush at Dylan’s tonight. So on the drive to his house, I’m riding high on my good mood.

  After pulling into the drive, I rush to the front door, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the Kansas winter weather. I’m plenty comfortable in my jeans and long-sleeve tee with my heavy coat in the freezing air. This is all about wanting to see my boyfriend after missing him for two very long days. How cheesy is that? But I can’t help it. Though it’s risky, I’m anticipating any stolen touches or kisses that we’ll share, and if I know Dylan like I’ve come to know Dylan, those perks will happen.

  As soon as I reach the door it opens and Cassie’s excited face is there to greet me. "Brooke! You’re here, I am so glad to see you, I’ve got soo much to tell you!"

  I smile, "Hi, honey. Slow down. How are you?"

  She hugs me tightly, "Right now I’m so excited. I can’t wait to tell you my news. I've missed you. You've been way too busy."

  Dylan is standing behind her, "Cass, why don't you let her come in first. It's cold out there."

  She giggles and steps back so I can walk in. Dylan reaches up to slip my coat off my shoulders letting his hands linger after giving them a firm squeeze before sliding it slowly down my arm. He looks way too proud of himself when I shiver and bite my lip in response to his touch. He’s such a tease. No problem, I too can play him. I hold his gaze briefly while I lick the exact spot on my lower lip which I just abused, and I’m equally happy with myself when he draws in a sharp breath before slowly releasing it. Dylan 1. Brooke 1. Games of Seduction is now my favorite.