Diary of a Bad Boy

by Quinn, Meghan

  Holy shit, that feels amazing. I rest my head against the pillow and try to relax my body into the mattress as she works her tongue around my cock. With each swirl, each pass of her tongue, I feel myself sinking further and further into bliss.

  She doesn’t have to work hard to make me writhe in ecstasy.

  I peek my eyes open and that’s when I see it, her ass in the air, her pussy so fucking wet that I feel a bolt of pleasure shoot up my cock. She’s turned on from taking me in her mouth.

  I need to do something about that.

  Hands on her ass, I pull her to my face and swipe my tongue across her pussy. Her mouth stills and then a long moan falls past her lips as I make another swipe. Taking a few seconds, she gathers herself as I continue to work the small bundle of nerves.

  Tightening her grip again, she begins to move her mouth up and down my length, her tongue swirling, her moans vibrating my cock in the best way possible, so I return the favor. I hum against her clit and she bucks her hips back, her throaty groans like a bolt of lightning straight through my veins.

  My entire body breaks out in a sweat, my balls begin to tighten, and my toes start to curl as my impending orgasm rests at the base of my cock.

  Fuck.

  I can’t go without her.

  Holding off as best as I can, my entire body thrumming with an impending release, I work my tongue over her clit, swiping, flicking, pressing hard and then pulling away lightly. In seconds, her hips are rotating against my mouth and she cries out, her sounds muffled as she pumps my cock up and down with her hand.

  My focus narrows, the sounds of the street outside drown away as pleasure rips through my body. My muscles still, my chest strains, my thighs clamp up, and I expel a loud groan as I come, gripping her ass tight.

  It takes me a few moments to catch my breath, but when I do, I twist Sutton around and pull her up on my chest where I kiss her forehead. And I had no fucking idea how much I’ve needed that. Could she be more perfect?

  After a few quiet moments, she says, “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

  “It was hot as fuck.”

  She peeks up at me. “It was.” The sweet smile that crosses her face reminds me, though she might be open and willing to try new things, she’s still an innocent girl underneath. “Want to order some food?”

  I chuckle. “I fucked the sense back into you.”

  She kisses my chest and laughs herself. “I hate to admit it, but you did.”

  * * *

  “What were you like as a kid?” Sutton asks while licking some cheese sauce off her finger. We ended up ordering cheesesteaks, and what I thought was going to be a simple meal has turned into an erotic show of Sutton fitting the hoagie in her mouth and licking every single finger. It hasn’t been easy controlling myself.

  Clearing my throat, I take a sip of my Coke—just plain Coke, nothing in it, boring shit. “A troublemaker. A stook—you’d say a punk—who knew how to get under everyone’s skin. I terrorized people in town, at least when I was younger. When I turned ten, I was put to work.”

  “What do you mean put to work?”

  I wipe my fingers off and sit back against the headboard. I chose to wear my pants while Sutton is wearing my shirt. “At the pub, I washed dishes for four dollars an hour every day after school. And then when I was done, I’d do homework in the corner until my dad was shit-faced, and that’s when I’d drag his sorry arse back home.”

  “How many hours did you work?” Sutton’s voice is concerned, and it does something to my heart, tripping it up.

  “Depended on the day, but on average about five hours a night.”

  “Did you get the money?”

  “Nah.” I shake my head. “Paid my dad’s tab with it.”

  She presses her hand to her chest, probably not quite believing what she’s hearing. “From the age of ten, you worked so your dad could drink?”

  “Pretty much. As he put it, I was doing my part for the family.”

  “That’s horrible, Roark.”

  I shrug. “It was all I knew, but it was the main reason I wanted to leave. When my English teacher told me about the exchange program at Yale with scholarship opportunities, I applied. I never thought I’d get in, but when I did, I knew it was my way out. When I was studying at Yale, and partying”—she rolls her eyes—“I was also studying to get my green card.”

  Her brows shoot up in surprise. “You have your green card?”

  “I do.”

  She snaps her fingers in disappointment. “Darn, there goes my chance to have a green card marriage checked off my bucket list.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  She winks. “I’ll forgive you.” Then she grows serious. “I’m impressed, Roark, that you’re self-made and have been able to build a business around you without any help.”

  “Impressed, huh?” I pull her in closer. “That wasn’t your first opinion about me.”

  “Because you got in a fight with a guy over ketchup.”

  “Ah, I can’t help what happens when I have alcohol running through my veins, which it hasn’t been now for a fucking long time might I add.”

  She smiles sheepishly. Fuck, I want to kiss her. “You can drink, Roark. You just couldn’t drink at the ranch.”

  “I’m aware of what I can do. I’m a grown-arse man, and if I want to skip the alcohol, I will.”

  She leans forward and runs her finger down my chest. “And smoking?”

  I pull on the back of my neck. “Yeah, that’s been a bitch, and I’m doing that for you. Or else, after what we did half an hour ago, I’d be smoking a cigarette for sure.”

  “Isn’t my kind of fresh air better?”

  “No.”

  She chuckles. “It’s good you quit.”

  “I wouldn’t say quit, more like currently suffering.”

  “Poor baby, can I help you with your cravings?” Her finger swipes over my nipple.

  I raise a brow in question. “What kind of help are we talking?”

  “The sexual kind,” she answers cutely before taking her shirt off.

  Who am I to deny the girl what she wants? I move our food out of the way and push her against the mattress. Her hair spans across the comforter, framing her like a goddamn angel. I move my hands up her sides and lean above her.

  “You’re addicting, you know that?”

  “The best kind of addiction, right?”

  I nod and bring my mouth to her neck where I mumble, “The only kind of addiction I want.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dear Branson,

  Branson . . . hmm, sounds like I’m a manager, calling for Branson, the fuck-up of the company, to get into my office so I can rip him a new one.

  Don’t worry, Branny. That’s not going to happen.

  Just stopping in to let you know I spoke with the evil witch with the stick up her ass, told her I was speaking with you consistently, and then I might have mentioned Sutton.

  I know, I know. What the hell was I thinking? It just slipped. She called me out on smiling, which I’ve been doing like a goddamn fool day in and day out, and apparently I can’t seem to tamp it down while in therapy.

  Of course, her mouth twitched, and I knew she was hiding a knowing smile, it was evident from the annoying glint in her happy smile. As if she was giddy that I have a girl in my life. It was the first time I ever saw a shred of personality peek through her tough-as-nails veneer.

  And do you know what that glint in her eyes made me do? It made me tell her that Sutton is the daughter of one of my clients. I know Bran-man, I’m cringing too.

  The glint in her eye quickly disappeared and was replaced with a judgmental sneer, erasing any humanity from her face.

  You know how therapists aren’t supposed to throw down their opinion? They’re just supposed to sit back and listen, asking stupid questions? She apparently forgot that, because she told me dating Sutton didn’t seem like a good idea, despite the dancing floating hearts arou
nd my head whenever I talk about her.

  You can imagine my shock when she told me to consider making a change where Sutton was concerned. I wanted to tell her I would consider making a change all right, and it would be firing her stuck-up ass. Of course, the court system wouldn’t care for that, so instead, I stood from the couch, buttoned my suit jacket, and told her she had a poppy seed in her teeth and walked out the door.

  She didn’t.

  But I saw she had an everything bagel and decided to make her sweat it out.

  I don’t need her judging me, not when I already know what I’m doing is not entirely kosher. And yeah, I’m going to have to tell Foster, man to man, that I’m dating his daughter, but when the time is right.

  I have it all planned out. Don’t worry.

  Roark

  * * *

  SUTTON

  “Please don’t embarrass me.”

  “What could I possibly do that would embarrass you?” Maddie asks as she pushes her chestnut hair behind her ear. “I have some decorum, you know.”

  “I know, I’m just . . . nervous.”

  “Meeting the best friend is a tough one, I know, especially after the last time I saw him. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to embarrass you.”

  The door to the small coffee house opens, letting in a breeze, followed by a bundled-up Roark wearing his signature beanie, black pants, and black jacket. His scruff is expertly trimmed, and there’s a light, rosy hue to his cheeks from the chilly morning. He’s so handsome it makes me want to sigh like a teenage girl.

  He gives the place a quick once-over then spots us. A crooked smile on his face, he makes eye contact with me and approaches.

  Maddie takes that moment to look up from her phone and spot him. “Well there he is, in the flesh, the best sex Sutton has ever had.”

  Roark pauses when he gets to the table and raises a brow in my direction.

  Honestly, Maddie?

  Chuckling, he leans down and hooks my chin with his finger and places a sweet kiss on my lips before whispering, “Best, huh? I like that.”

  Blushing, I press another quick kiss to his lips and pull away as he takes a seat next to me, scooting his chair close so he can drape his arm behind me.

  After he’s settled, he reaches across the small table and holds out his hand. “Maddie, it’s nice to properly meet you.”

  She glances at me then turns to Roark. “Yes, nice to properly meet you.” What was that glance for? I don’t like that look in her eyes. “Can you say fuck me?”

  Oh Maddie . . .

  Confused, brow pinched together, he humors my friend and says, “Fook me.”

  “Did you hear that?” Maddie claps and does a horrible impersonation. “Fook me. God, that’s hot. No wonder he’s the best you’ve ever had.”

  “Maddie,” I reprimand under my breath. “Be cool.”

  “Is that all ya talk about? Fookin’?” Roark asks, his accent growing heavier, which I’m sure he’s doing on purpose.

  “We talk about other things where you’re concerned, but it usually starts with that.”

  “Oh yeah?” He twirls a piece of my hair around his finger. “Give me specifics.”

  “Not necessary,” I say while shaking my head.

  Apparently Maddie has a different idea, though. “She tells me everything from positions to girth.”

  “Girth?” Roark leans back to look at me as I blush terribly.

  “Yeah, girth, and I must say, congrats.” Maddie takes a sip of her drink and then continues. “Also, thank you for giving my girl her first sixty-nine experience. She would not stop talking about it.”

  “Maddie, for the love of God, stop.” I press my hand to my forehead, utterly humiliated.

  Leaning into me, Roark presses his lips against my ear and says, “Don’t be embarrassed, it’s hot that you talk about it.” A shiver runs down my arm as he pulls away and addresses Maddie. “How long have you known Sutton?”

  Thank God he changed the subject.

  “Since freshman year in college. Pretty little Sutton here was lost at NYU, and she asked for some help. I had no clue where I was going but needed a friend, so I pretended to find the admissions building. Luckily we stumbled across it. After that, we went to the cafeteria, talked over bowls of cereal, and our friendship was solidified.” Maddie glances in my direction. “Best friends for life.”

  “Not sure after this,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. Sensing my irritation, Roark moves his hand behind my neck and gently massages the tension out of it with his expert fingers. I will say this, even though he’s not experienced in relationships, he sure knows how to do everything right.

  “Lighten up.” Maddie nudges my leg under the table. “You knew what was going to happen when you asked me to meet your boyfriend.”

  “You said you’d be cool,” I mutter from the side of my lip.

  She shrugs and takes a sip of her water. “I think we all knew that was a lie.”

  Roark chuckles next to me, the vibration of his laughter easing the tension in my shoulders. “I like her, lass,” he says softly. “Just wait until you meet Rath and Bram—when he’s not in a panic from peeing his pants.”

  “Peeing his pants?” Maddie asks, resting her chin on her propped-up hand. “Do tell why your friend pees his pants.”

  “He was choking on a Brussels sprout, got the Heimlich, and then peed. It was a production. He doesn’t just pee his pants. He’s a very nice guy,” I say, hoping Maddie doesn’t think Roark hangs out with guys with wonky prostates.

  “That sounds horrifying.” She looks to the side before turning her attention back to us. “Is this Bram taken?”

  Oh Maddie.

  “Recently engaged,” Roark answers, drawing a gleeful surprise from me.

  “He asked?”

  Roark nods. “He took your advice, asked when he got home, and of course Julia said yes. They’re in Barbados right now celebrating. They’ll be back on Friday.”

  Maddie snaps her finger in disappointment. “Why are all the good ones always taken?”

  “The only thing you know about Bram is him eating Brussels sprouts and peeing his pants. You call that good?” Roark asks, a little perplexed.

  “If a man can admit to peeing his pants, I want to know him. Shows he’s not too full of himself. I like that.” Maddie gives Roark a once-over. “Ever pee yourself, Roark?”

  He shrugs. “Probably. I’ve been drunk enough. I did really like peeing in Bram’s laundry basket back in college.”

  Maddie chuckles as I turn in my seat, a little horrified. “You peed in laundry baskets?”

  His wicked smile cuts through me. “When you’re that blasted, anything round and white resembles a toilet. Don’t worry, lass, I did his laundry for him the next morning.”

  “That’s considerate,” Maddie says, pointing her finger at Roark. “Very considerate. You got a good one.”

  Even though this is probably one of the most ridiculous conversations I’ve ever had, I don’t think I could agree with Maddie more. I did find a good one—despite the peeing in laundry baskets thing. Roark is the type of man I know will always protect me, who will always strive to make me happy as I do the same. We’ve each met our match, and I can see my future with this man at my side. I sincerely hope he’s feeling the same exact way.

  As Maddie and Roark converse about college, I glance at him and take in the small crinkle near his eyes as he smiles and laughs, the way he so easily meshes with my best friend. It makes it that much easier to know I’m with the right guy. From our initial interaction, I never would have thought this is the man I want to be with, but slowly, with his witty comebacks and sweet and unlikely gestures, he’s won me over . . . completely.

  And now, I can’t stop thinking about him. I hate not being at his side or lounging in one of our beds, talking about anything and nothing while we cuddle, skin on skin. Behind the reckless, bad-boy exterior and the asshole comments, he truly is a loveable and add
icting man, one I don’t plan on letting go . . . ever.

  * * *

  “So, I met Maddie.” Roark places a giant walnut and fudge brownie on the table and takes the seat opposite me at his dining table. “When are we going to tell your dad?”

  I knew that was coming.

  It’s not the first time he’s mentioned telling my dad about us, and I think it’s because he respects my dad greatly, and holding something back like this from him is wreaking havoc in Roark’s mind. But I feel nervous. I know my dad likes Roark and respects him, but my dad has always been protective, and given Roark’s history, I’m not sure he’s the type of guy my dad would’ve picked for me.

  But Roark is so much more than his past record. He’s protective, he’s sweet, and he cares about me more than I think anyone, including my dad if that’s possible, ever has. He will do anything for me and strives to put a smile on my face every day. Those are attributes I want to focus on when talking to my dad about Roark, and I think if I take that approach, he might very well approve.

  I need to find the right time.

  It’s all about timing with my dad; I’ve learned that the hard way. I can still remember the time in high school I told him I was going on a date with Luke Jameson. I told him five minutes before Luke showed up. Needless to say, my father, at six foot three, was pretty intimidating to poor Luke, and also needless to say, the date didn’t happen. And I was never asked out after that all through high school . . .

  Or the time I told him I was thinking about going to school out of state, that I no longer wanted to live in Texas, but wanted to explore New York where he spent many years playing football. He wasn’t too happy about that either, because he wanted me to be safe in my pocket of comfort in Texas. Yes, I was book smart and not world savvy, but I wanted to change that. It’s almost laughable that it was Maddie who first got me to stay out past nine after all my protests about being mature enough to take on city living. He has always wanted to be the one to protect me, to veto anything he thought would adversely change me.