Taboo Series Book 1 & 2 Bundle

by Roxy Queen

  I’ve barely come down, when I see him on his knees, his dick tenting in his trunks. I pull them down, and his cock bounces like a spring. I open my already spread legs wider, giving him the green light. He moves frantically, like he’s afraid I may change my mind.

  “Calm down,” I coax.

  “Ouch,” he says banging his head on the roof of the car, trying to get fully free of his shorts.

  “You okay?” I ask, but I think it comes out in a mushy giggle because I’m still high from the feeling of his tongue.

  “Yep,” he replies. The look of determination, plus lust on his face, confirms that a bump on the head isn’t going to keep this from happening.

  “You have a condom?” I ask, but he’s already searching for one. So responsible. Sometimes I forget he’s a kid. But then I see his trembling fingers as he rummages through his glove compartment, pulling the square package out and remember this is new for him. I pluck the condom from his hands and tear the wrapper. “Come here.”

  He hovers over me in the tight space, allowing me to roll it on. He jerks a little when my fingers touch his skin, trying to control himself. I know he won’t last long, but I don’t care, I need him as much as he needs me.

  He’s quick about it once he settles down, pushing in, burying himself to the hilt. I brace my foot against the door handle and I’m glad he’s big because he isn’t skilled. His enthusiasm makes up for it, anyway. His pretty gray eyes glaze over as he gets lost in my bouncing chest, and he sucks the sharp breaths out of my mouth with his kisses. When he’s ready he grunts deep and sweet, faster and faster and faster until his face is in my neck and dirty, thankful words tumble out of his mouth.

  We untangle, and he trashes the condom in a fast food cup, then rolling on his back. I let him pull me on his chest. I rest my head on the smooth skin—he isn’t very hairy yet, just a couple soft hairs scattered here and there. “That was awesome,” he says, and I nod into his skin, wanting to close my eyes. I can’t because were in the back of his SUV in the swimming pool parking lot. The SUV his parents bought him for graduation. The thought makes me search for my shirt but my sweaty body sticks to the leather of the seat. He tightens his grip. “You’re kind of amazing,” he whispers and then kisses the top of my head and the pit of my belly stirs.

  I lift myself up and smile. “You’re pretty amazing, too.” He pushes his hips toward me and he’s hard again. I think about being his age and how once a night would have been enough, but now the idea of a second go is more than appealing. Carter’s more than ready to oblige.

  “What time do you need to be home?” I ask, wrapping my hand around him, feeling a little strange asking the question. But I have ideas and plans for the rest of the night and most of them take place in this car.

  “Whenever,” he says, tossing my shirt to the front seat with one hand and reaching for my chest with the other. God he’s fucking handsy.

  Whenever is perfect. Whenever is fine. I decide then to do whatever we can do between now and whenever.

  Chapter 14

  “Details.”

  We’re back in the shade again, but not because of the sun. This is the best place to watch Carter when he decides to get cocky and show off on the diving board. Right now he’s standing on the board, leaning against the guard rails waiting for the kid in front of him to take their turn. He’s funny, because he’s so laid back and even this little kid being slow doesn’t faze him.

  One fuck session and my obsession has shifted. I’m no longer focused just on his body, but on him. Like where does he go when he’s not here (or with me?) and where are his friends? And seriously, how can he not have a girlfriend?

  I’ve been collecting data on him, noticing how he’s polite and well mannered. He’s quick with the “ma’am’s and sir’s” since he’s southern and I’m sure his mother enforced it. He’s most at ease in the water. It’s truly his home. For Carter water is like another layer of skin. He glides through it. He moves fast and graceful. Outside the water he’s capable as well, but he’s like a puppy. Arms and legs slightly out of control. He occupies too much space. He’s just a little too big for his coordination, but in the water he moves like he can breathe under there.

  Like Aqua-Man.

  “Ruthie,” Finley snaps her fingers. “Details? Please? I’m dying over here.”

  “It was good. He was good.”

  “Really?” Her nose scrunches up and I can tell she’s skeptical.

  “I mean, no, he’s no sexpert, but honestly, he’s so into it, and so into me and he’s so freaking eager, it makes it more than worth it.” I think about his face when he comes. The way his eyes squeeze shut and the way he bites his bottom lip. It’s all about the sex. Nothing else.

  “What does his skin feel like?”

  “Velvet,” I tell her. “Smooth like velvet.”

  We watch him go to the edge of the board. He’s on the high dive now. Carter balances himself, arms wide and in a beat he’s in the air, first sideways, then tumbling forward, and ending in a can-opener that showers us in water. We’re drenched, and his head bobs to the surface and he gives me a fast smile.

  Show off. Splashing girls is Carter’s way of flirting. The equivalent of pulling my pig tails. He’s marking his territory without ever saying a word.

  I fight a smile back because I still don’t want anyone to know. These moms gossip too much, and the older kids are into everyone’s business. This is my job. Plus, I like him being my dirty little secret. He likes it, too.

  “So does he listen? Like are you telling him stuff?”

  She’s still talking about sex. “Yeah, he’s willing to learn. Last night we worked on the theory of why men should make sure women get theirs first.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She smiles. She knows this to be true.

  “Yes, he learns fast, and—“I start to giggle. “He was rewarded richly.”

  I hear the spring coil and release. He’s in the air again, pushing his body to the highest levels it will go. Again, he lands like a bomb, in the sweet spot between his butt and his back and water showers over me like rain.

  *

  Friday night comes and it’s time for the cookout Betsy wanted me to come to. Finley and Ryan will be there and several other people from the number of place settings. I don’t know anyone in town and spend most of my free time alone. Well, until recently that is. Carter didn’t ask me what I was doing tonight and I didn’t share. We’re not exactly in that type of relationship.

  Betsy and Dave are pretty cool. They’re only about ten years older than I am. Dave’s a professor and Betsy works as a designer. I found the job through a mutual friend who knew I was moving to the area for school. They needed a nanny and I needed a job and somewhere to live.

  “Can I take anything outside?” I ask. Betsy runs around the kitchen managing a dozen tasks at once. She opens the oven door, checks something and then closes it.

  “Uh, you can go light the candles,” she says, handing me a lighter. “And tell Dave to start the grill.”

  I push open the screen door and walk onto the porch. Betsy has a flair for decorating and has spent hours on their historic home. In the middle of the spacious porch is a large wooden dining table. Long padded benches line each side and I count ten place settings. Other than four seats at a smaller children’s table. A huge swing, the size of a daybed hangs from the ceiling and a big, stone fireplace sits against the back wall.

  “Betsy said you should start the grill,” I tell Dave, who’s filling a cooler with ice.

  “Thanks,” he says. “Beer or sangria?”

  “Sangria.”

  Finley and Ryan arrive first carrying a platter of cheese and crackers. “I like your dress,” she says, pointing to my white sundress. It’s risky wearing white at dinner but I hope I can get through the meal without spilling something on myself.

  “Thanks.” I take the plate from Ryan and enter the kitchen. “Guests are arriving,” I say. “Where would you like this?”


  Betsy stops me and says, “You’re a guest, too. Stop puttering around the kitchen and join everyone else outside.”

  I laugh and nod. “Okay. I’ll be a good guest. Promise.”

  Finley’s employer’s the Higgin’s arrive, with their girls in tow. The four little ones run off to play inside and I’m introduced to them for the first time. I’m in the middle of shaking hands when a slightly older couple arrives up the steps and Dave says, “Ruthie and Finley, I don’t think you’ve met Diane and Jeffery Hightower.”

  Finley and I smile and blink at one another. “No, we haven’t,” she says taking up for my complete and utter silence. Greetings are made and Dave announces he and Diane work in the same department at the university. I think I’m going along superficially but internally I’m studying this couple, looking for traces of the boy I’m obsessed with. I see he got his mother’s gray eyes and his father’s long arms. I’m trying to think of something clever to say when Diane interrupts Finley and says, “Betsy, I hope it’s still okay that I had Carter tag along. He looked so pathetic when I told him I was coming and no one would be home for dinner.”

  Oh did he?

  Finley and I share another look and I reach for my sangria and take a gulp.

  “Of course it is,” Betsy says. I notice the way her cheeks blush and she’s just as excited to have him here as I am. Well, probably not as excited but still, she’s not blind. “The girls love him, and he and Ruthie can talk about Duke.”

  If I didn’t know better I’d think I was being set up. There’s no way though and this becomes painfully obvious when Carter appears at the top of the steps looking like sex on legs. Crisp, white button down. Khaki shorts. Fucktastic smile.

  No woman would willingly hand a guy like Carter over to another female, even without the age differences. I take another swallow of my drink.

  “Hi, Carter,” Finley says. “It’s weird not seeing you in a bathing suit.” I note that Ryan shakes his hand and does a quick assessment. I suspect he’s just figured out his wife’s increased sexual appetite.

  “It’s Ruthie, right?” He lifts an eyebrow in question.

  “Yes, Ruthie.”

  “Nice to finally meet you.” He offers his hand and I take it, unprepared for the jolt of electricity between us.

  “Carter, Ruthie’s starting graduate school at Duke this fall,” Betsy says, passing by and refilling drinks. I practically shove my glass at her, desperate for something to settle my nerves. She doesn’t notice my panic, thankfully, and fills the glass to the top. Carter declines and grabs a bottle of water from the cooler.

  “So you’ll be a freshman?” I ask, trying not to stumble over the words. Finley and Ryan are watching us like the most crack-tastic reality show on television. We’re saved by the children rushing out to the porch begging for dinner. I excuse myself to the kitchen and start helping, even though I’ve been told not to.

  “Everyone’s ready,” Betsy says, calling me to the table. Carter’s seated at one end of the table, next to his parents and I’m at the other end near the Higgin’s. Thank God.

  The distance between us makes things better, sort of. All I want is to get him alone and we’ve never been in any sort of situation like this. It raises the bar between us while at the same time solidifying how what we have is a secret. He’s talking about soccer and swimming. I’m talking about bank accounts and insurance. He’s drinking a Coke and I’m drowning my third glass of sangria. He’s ignoring me and I’m ignoring him and every second feels like torture.

  After the tables are cleared Betsy brings out the dessert. I’ve made a chocolate pie to go along with the pound cake and homemade ice cream. “Oh, I forgot the whipped cream,” I say. “Let me go get it.”

  I stumble on the steps, unbalanced from the drinks, and walk across the short, dark backyard to my apartment. I duck inside and grab the whipped cream from the refrigerator and a large serving spoon. At the bottom of the steps he’s waiting for me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, but I see the hint of a grin on his face and the bulge in his pants. That’s all it takes with him. The idea of sex, of me, and he gets hard.

  “Checking on you.”

  His hand is on my waist and his mouth covers mine. Oh, his tongue is so nice. “We can’t do this here,” I say, pulling apart.

  “Why not?”

  “Because these are my employers and your parents are twenty feet away.”

  “Unconvincing,” he says, stroking his thumb over my nipple. Yes, he’s that forward. I love it. “You’re only making it hotter.”

  He’s right. I am only making it hotter and I’m as bad as he is because the idea is making me wet. “We’ll get caught.”

  “No we won’t, they didn’t even notice me leaving. It won’t take long.”

  “That’s not really a selling point,” I lie.

  His smile is wicked and determined. It’s hot. He’s hot and fighting him is futile. He knows this and takes my hand, pulling me into the dark garage part of the carriage house.

  “Thank God, you wore a dress,” he says, pushing it up my thighs and mounting me on the front of the car. He yanks off my panties and bends down. I wonder, briefly, what he’s doing when I feel his tongue and I fight a squeal. Holy shit. Has he been practicing?

  I don’t want to know the answer to that question or can’t even formulate the thought behind it. Leaning back on my elbows, I watch, enthralled as he eats me like I’m his last meal and he’s savoring every bite.

  “Babe, come up,” I say, panting like a fool.

  He merges, wild eyed. I hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper. He’s ready. I’m ready. Carter pulls down the straps of my dress, revealing my breasts and plunges in. Hard.

  “Oh,” I gasp, boobs bouncing, as I lie flat on my back on the hood of Dave’s Prius. He’s right, it doesn’t take long, his tongue and the illicitness of our location having done most of the work. We manage to come close together and I pull myself upright, biting his shoulder to keep quiet.

  “Fuck,” he exhales. He has the courtesy of picking up my panties and sliding them over my feet and up to my knees. He’s so freaking sweet.

  I hop off the car, shaky kneed, using his arm for balance. “Crap, my strap broke,” I whisper, holding up the thin piece of fabric.

  “Sorry.” He takes the strap from me and fusses with it for a minute. It’s too dark and he’s too sex-fogged to be of any help.

  “Forget it. I’ll manage.”

  I grab the container and spoon and walk out of the garage back to the porch. I’m trying my hardest not to fall into a puddle of goo on the grass. My crotch feels raw and abused, but in the best way possible. If anything I’m bitter that I didn’t get to see him shirtless.

  It’s almost my favorite part.

  No one seems to notice my disappearance and I place my container on the dessert table, resting the spoon on top. I’m clutching my shoulder when I see Finley raise an eyebrow. I wave her over.

  “Can you fix this strap?”

  “What the hell? It’s torn in two!”

  “Shhh!”

  She lowers her voice. “Did Carter do this?” I nod, biting my lip to keep from laughing. “Just now?”

  “He likes it rough?”

  “I think he just likes it.” We both laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “Did anyone notice?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Thank God.”

  Finley ties my strap together so at least it’s not falling off. “He’s taken to this fairly well, I see. No shame.”

  “Yeah,” I spot him easing into his chair and taking a slice of pie for himself. He glances over with a smug look of satisfaction. I walk back over and take my seat. Grabbing a dessert plate of my own, I join the conversation, pretending like I didn’t just have my mind blown by the 18 year-old across the table.

  *

  Carter pushes the hair off my neck and kisses the spot below my hairline. My skin rubs against his s
ticky and slick with sweat. Just like every other inch of our bodies.

  “Holy shit,” he says, for the third time. There have also been a series of fucks, damns and one sweet Jesus earlier. Now though, he pulls my skirt down so it covers my backside. In the shadows of the darkened girls’ changing room I can see him pulling his shorts back up. His hands shake and I can see his knees wobbling as much as my own. I slide my back down the wall and rest on the bench.

  I had shown up at closing, waiting around until the other guard left. Once the lights were out and the gate locked, I pulled him into the changing room. I kissed him, and tugged off his shirt and then his shorts. He was ready, always ready, and then I leaned into the wall, resting my forehead on arms and let him discover on his own that there was nothing underneath my dress.

  “Really?” he asked.

  I kissed him in reply, bending over further, and feeling his dick run along my sensitive, exposed flesh. I shivered and bit my lip when he finally slid in.

  “Use your hands,” I breathed. He followed directions and made up for his lack of experience with ambition. Between his fingers and mine, I showed him where to touch me, gently and then with more pressure. I came hard, my voice echoing against the cinderblock bathhouse.

  I braced myself for him, both hands on the wall as he grunted low in my ear. I heard my name whispered between the swear words. An angel or the devil, that’s what he must be. I’m still not sure which.

  “I can’t believe you let me do that,” he says, pulling me off the seat and hugging me. I think it’s a ‘thank you for letting me fuck you from behind’ hug. Maybe? No one had ever hugged me after that before.

  “Your next girlfriend will thank me, too,” I say, because she will. She may even send me a note or flowers. Not only did I let him do it, I showed him how to do it right.

  I wave him away and he goes outside and waits while I clean up. Bonus of bathhouse sex? Showers. When I’m clean, we meet up outside. He laces his fingers through mine and asks, “Why do you always talk about other girls? It’s a little weird.”