by J. Daniels
Table of Contents
Sweet Obsession
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Playlist
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Books by J. Daniels
Sweet Obsession
Copyright@2015 J. Daniels.
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, storied in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Cover design ©
Kari March, Kari March Designs
Interior design and formatting
Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable
This book is dedicated to my amazing street team, J’s Sweeties.
You ladies rock my socks off.
Sweet Obsession is a standalone novel in the Sweet Addiction series, and crosses over with the Alabama Summer series. Chronologically, it is set after Sweet Possession and between All I Want and When I Fall.
BROOKE
“Fuck yeah, baby. You ready? Huh? You ready to come all over this cock?”
I dig my nails into Paul’s shoulders, arching my back off the bed. My breath hitches. “Yes, God . . . fuck, don’t stop.”
“Fuuuck.” He squeezes my hips while he pounds into me. Sweat beads up on his brow, on the dusting of hair coating his chest as he throws his head back, filling the condom with a groan, the cords in his neck straining.
My own orgasm follows seconds later.
“Coming!” I yell, closing my eyes as that sweet heat burns down my spine, exploding into a thousand stars between my hips. I lock my ankles behind his back, keeping his firm body pinned between my legs, his cock exactly where I need it while I ride this out. My body hums, my thighs shake against his skin.
God, I love sex. I mean really, who doesn’t love this right here? I’d consider giving up cupcakes for this.
I grind my hips against his pelvis as a life without salted caramel icing flashes in front of my eyes.
Chocolate chip cheesecake. Red velvet. White chocolate raspberry.
Okay, maybe not cupcakes, and maybe not this sex. I’ve had to tag myself in a few times.
“Greedy girl,” Paul murmurs, sliding his hand between my tits. He pinches my nipple.
“Mm,” I purr, slowly peeking up at him as that perfect ache settles, leaving me sated.
A lazy smile beams down at me, but blurs into something indiscernible as Paul’s spent body suddenly collapses on top of mine.
“Lord, move off.” I rock my hips, shoving against his shoulders. “Asshole. You’re going to kill me.”
He laughs, rolling onto his back and pulling off the condom with a satisfied groan. He ties it off. “Goddamn, I don’t think I’ve ever filled one of these this much before. My dick might need a week to recover.”
Mm. I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.
Go, Brooke. Wreck those penises.
I stand from the bed and grab my clothes off the floor, dressing hastily as Paul treads to the bathroom. Slipping into my heels, I spin to grab my clutch off the nightstand and run straight into a bare chest.
“Oh, hey, sorry,” I mumble, shifting my weight on my feet. “Just grabbing my stuff.”
He squeezes my hips, bunching the material of my dress in his hands. “Where are you going? Stay for a little while.”
“Can’t. I need to get home.”
“We can order take-out or something. Are you hungry?”
“I already ate.”
His brow furrows as his grip on me loosens, then vanishes completely. His shoulders drop. “Why do I feel like I was just used?”
A laugh rumbles in the back of my throat. I move past him, picking up my clutch. “I had a nice time tonight. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“And do what? Is this going to happen again if I do see you? ‘Cause if I’m being honest, Brooke, I’m not really feeling the love right now.”
I lift my head to look at him. His dark eyes are suddenly unsure. He looks wounded.
Wow, really? Didn’t peg you as a clinger, Paul.
Securing my clutch under my arm, I plant a brief kiss on his cheek, whispering, “don’t act like you didn’t know what this was.”
As I pad toward the door, my heels tapping against the hardwood, I wait for that moment to hit me where I feel remorse, or regret. Anything to make me turn around and reassure this man, but it never comes.
I don’t feel bad for this. I never feel bad after having an orgasm, even if some of them are brought on by my own efforts. And really? Why should I feel bad? He came. A lot, apparently. Enough to make him gaze at that condom like a proud father cradling a newborn. We’re both walking away from this experience satisfied, even if I am technically the only one walking.
Regret? Remorse? Fuck that noise. I’m Brooke Wicks, and I love sex. A lot of it. I don’t see any problem with my hit it and quit it philosophy. I’m doing what I want with the men I want to do it with.
Period.
Hand on the doorknob, I turn and give Paul one last look; a sweet one. “Good night.”
His eyes, lost in focus, slowly lift to meet mine. “Yeah . . . yeah, good night.”
With little resistance, I slam the door shut, smiling at the sound.
A hard, satisfying bang.
Nope. No regrets here.
I step inside the condo, shutting the door behind me and setting my keys and clutch down. Two sets of eyes peer curiously at me over the back of the couch.
Let the interrogation begin.
“Yes?” I ask, pulling my heels off and setting them by the door.
Billy turns around, throwing his arm behind Joey. “Well?”
I limply shrug. “Five.”
“That’s it?” Joey’s back goes rigid. His eyebrows meet his blonde hairline. “On a scale of one to ten, he was a five in bed? Are you fucking serious?”
“Oh, I thought you were asking me how big he was.”
Billy clears his throat, his wide eyes roaming the condo uncomfortably.
I look between the two of them. “Seven. Extra point for the dirty talking.”
Joey grimaces, waving me over. “A seven with a dick smaller than your vibrator? God . . . you poor, poor baby.”
“I know. I was going to bail when I saw it, but then I thought I’d see what he could do. You know me . . . always the team player. Plus, it was pierced.”
I round the couch and sit on the end next to Joey, who by the look on his face, is visualizing a pierced dick. Billy mouths the word “no” when he’s given an inquisitive stare, prompting a low laugh to push past Joey’s lips.
I twirl a chunk of hair around my fingers.
Mm. Out of the two of them, I’d peg Joey to be the one with the barbell thro
ugh his junk. Billy wears too many suits, and don’t lawyers go through metal detectors when they go to court?
I can’t see him wanting to explain his Prince Albert every day to security.
My body forms to the soft leather as I relax, head tilted back, my gaze on the ceiling. “He got all clingy on me when I was leaving. Full-on puppy-dog eyes and everything. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Humph. Are you sure he didn’t have a vagina?”
I scoff at Joey. “I think I would’ve noticed. I was all up in it.”
Billy stands and grabs the large, half-empty bowl of popcorn off the coffee table as Joey and I share a laugh.
“You want to watch a movie with us? We just started The Best Of Me.”
I smile up at Billy. “Nicholas Sparks? How very gay of you.”
He feigns a laugh, hand flattening on his chest. “Hilarious, Brooke.”
“Oh!” I shift onto my knees so that I can look between the two of them as Billy moves into the kitchen.
I almost forgot!
“You are both about to be so, so proud of me. I went to Agent Provocateur today, and didn’t spend a dime. Not one cent! Do you have any idea how difficult that was? I started shaking like a crack addict when I saw the new spring line.” I hold my hand up, beaming when Joey high-fives me. “I even tried on stuff. What I did today, the restraint I showed, is seriously unheard of for me. I should actually go back to the store now and buy something to celebrate the fact that I didn’t buy anything earlier.”
I go to get up and Joey grabs my wrist, tugging me down. We share a teasing look.
“Kidding, they’re closed, obviously, but seriously, how great am I doing with my spending? My bank account is looking awesome lately. Give me a few weeks, and I should be out of here.”
Getting evicted from my apartment two months ago was probably the lowest moment in my life. Well, that and the cum-shot gone wrong in New Orleans.
I swear my eye twitches occasionally because of that mishap.
After I found the notice taped to my door, I flipped off my landlord and weighed my options.
My overbearing parents—God, no, I’d rather get my teeth drilled, or Juls.
I love my sister, I do, but I can’t live with her. Besides, her and Ian are in tiny-tot land. She’s popping out a kid every nine months it seems. They need their family space. I need to not have to explain to my four year old nephew why Aunt Brooke has things that vibrate in her bedroom.
My landlord gave me one week to get out. I thought I was screwed. I was ready to deal with the ramifications of living under my father’s roof again. I’m sure he would’ve tried to tag me with a curfew, even though I’m twenty-five, haven’t had a curfew since I was seventeen, and mastered the art of sneaking through my bedroom window when I used to live there. However, these two amazing men saved the day and offered me a place to crash. The three of us have gotten close since I started working at the bakery, me and Joey especially.
Who would’ve thought me and Joey would become besties? I hated that bitch growing up.
Billy hands me a daiquiri. His eyes, warm and kind, stay glued to mine as he moves to his seat. “You know we don’t mind you living here, right? We’re not kicking you out, Brooke. There’s no rush.”
“Ha!” Joey smirks, his eyebrow arching playfully as he settles against Billy’s side. “No, we’re not, but I would like to fuck loud eventually. I’m all for you kicking your shopping addiction if it means we can go back to trying to break the sound barrier.”
I swallow my mouthful of daiquiri quickly before I spit it out. A quick chill runs through me. “Please. I have to wear those giant noise-canceling headphones when you two go at it, and I can still hear you begging, Joey. You don’t know how to be quiet.”
“Oh, and you do?” Joey rolls his eyes, lifting his own glass. “You’re loud even by yourself, Brooke.”
“It’s not my fault I’m amazing. Ask Paul. He can confirm that.”
Billy grabs the remote, a tense wave passing over his features. “Can we start up the movie and get off this topic? I had no idea you could hear us.”
“Everyone can hear you.” I point at the wall behind me when he turns his head and eyes me cautiously. “Mrs. Kessler caught me in the elevator last week and asked me if you two were remodeling in here. Something about you yelling ‘give me a hammer.’ You should’ve seen her face when I told her you were actually saying hummer.”
Billy closes his eyes, groaning. “Jesus Christ.”
“No wonder that old bitch has been giving me strange looks lately.” Joey waves a dismissive hand in front of his face. He shifts about on the couch. “Fuck her and her moss covered vagina. My sex life is fantastic, and I don’t care if the entire state hears my baby asking me to suck him off. We quiet down for no one.”
I pull my glass away from my lips, laughing as Billy rakes a hand down his face, noticeably uncomfortable.
He’s so different from Joey. The complete opposite, actually, but they complement each other perfectly.
Especially in the bedroom. I hear a lot.
“I told you both I would only stay here until I had enough money saved up to move out. I love you guys, but I need to get my own place again. Our combined hair-care products are overtaking the condo.” I cock my head with a pout, shifting my gaze between them. “But I will miss the sleepovers. You’re such a sweet little spoon, Billy. All soft and cuddly.”
He frowns. “There’s nothing about me that’s little, Brooke. Or soft,” he pauses, grinning. “Haven’t you heard?”
Warmth floods my cheeks.
Sweet Lord. Did Billy just insinuate . . .
“No, there is definitely not,” Joey proudly affirms, cutting into my thoughts of R-rated antonyms. He squeezes Billy’s thigh. “Was that a hard ‘no’ on the dick jewelry? Any wiggle room on that?”
The movie begins playing. Apparently, Billy’s answer was final.
Joey’s lips brush against my hair as I swallow another mouthful of my daiquiri. “How was it with the piercing? Honestly,” he whispers.
Typical Joey. Needing to know all the tricks of the trade. I am shocked he hasn’t been down this road himself, though.
“The one spot that’s hard for some guys to hit,” I begin softly, bending my finger in a rhythmic motion. Our eyes lock. “He didn’t have any problem.”
Joey slowly leans back. “Damn it. Am I seriously missing out?”
“Shh.”
We both glance at Billy, then resume whispering closely.
“I know for a fact he hits all your spots just fine. As do the neighbors across the street.”
“True. But I love trying new things with him. Maybe I could get it done.” Joey looks down at his lap, the corner of his mouth pulling tight. “That shit could go south, though. Really fuck up my perfect form. Not to mention it probably hurts like a motherfucker.”
I press my lips to the edge of my glass, murmuring my next words when Billy tilts his head down and glares in my direction. “Want me to call Paul and ask? He’s probably staring at his phone expectantly.”
Joey smiles. “He loved you, Brooke. How could you walk out on what you two shared?”
Oh, my God.
“Please.”
“I’m sure he was seconds away from proposing. Or at least suggesting you move in with him.”
I shake my head. “He was oddly fascinated with his own semen. That living arrangement would never work.”
Seriously. Did he even flush that condom? Is there a chance he set it aside to frame it instead?
Gross, Paul. You’ll never get a girl to stay that way.
Joey bumps his shoulder against mine, pressing his weight into me. “That’s kind of hot, actually. But . . . okay, I have to know. Was it a barbell? Or one of those stud things? Oo! Did he have it going down the shaft?”
The noise from the TV abruptly cuts off. Silence fills the condo.
Billy leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, the look he r
eserves for moments when Joey and I go off on dick tangents at the dinner table ghosting across his face.
I clear my throat, lowering my glass. “Hi, hey there, little spoon. Sorry, we’ll be quiet.”
His eyes, steady with doubt, shift to Joey and soften marginally.
There it is. Sweet Billy. No one else looks at Joey like that.
Mindful to the fact that the only way to keep his husband on the couch with us and not locked in his office, going over documents that can surely wait until tomorrow is to shut up and watch the movie, Joey slides over and plucks the remote out of Billy’s hand.
The movie resumes playing.
I tuck my knees against my chest as the two men at the other end of the couch dissolve into each other, recommencing the intimate embrace they always share. The closeness that stills the two of them, even Joey, who is nearly impossible to silence.
I sip leisurely on my daiquiri, my thoughts on piercings and poor, poor Paul, struggling to find the perfect spot to display that condom.
The sidewalk is already busy at a quarter after eight Monday morning as I make my usual trek down Fayette street, carefully juggling four coffee orders, my over-sized Coach bag, which just so happens to be the purchase that sent me over my spending limit two months ago, worth it, it’s fabulous, and the design binder I took home on Friday of Dylan’s.
I wanted to organize some of the notes she had penciled in over the past several years and make things more legible, pretty even. I used textured paper and script font. The letters and thank you cards she received since opening the bakery that had been stuffed into the back pocket for keepsakes are now laminated and on display for clients to read in a section titled ‘Sweet Testimonials.’
I’m honestly not sure how Dylan will take my modifications to the only thing she seems to study more than her husband. The thought of her hating what I’ve done, the one thing I haven’t cleared with her beforehand that involves her business, causes me to miss the giant crack in the pavement I’m usually careful to step over.
“Ow, shit!”
The binder goes down first, followed quickly by my Coach bag.
But the coffee? Ha! Not today, city of Chicago.
