I bet they’d all fall flat on their asses if any of them knew I have a PhD in psychology. Not many people know, in fact only Gruffy and my bank manager know that I kept studying after college and raced through the course while juggling a job and saving what little I had left after student loans to chip in for Delights.
Not that I use the thing or ever intend to. I just figured I started it so I may as well finish it.
I can’t remember half of that crap now anyway, because as far as I am concerned it’s all clap trap. People are weird and messed up and they have the power to overcome that stuff if they want to. That’s the deciding factor in all things life, and I won’t ever see it differently.
“Woody—”
“I want to know how you got in here since I’m pretty sure Indie would chew off her own hand before opening the door to you,” he interjects, sounding so un-Woody that I have to stop and take a minute to process his tone and expression.
Lynn looks taken aback before she sniffs and turns on her heel, ignoring us both, apparently realizing that no amount of schmooze is going to get her anywhere.
“Lynn.”
“The new doorman let me in.”
Okay, that man is so getting fired if his expression is anything to go by. When the door slams shut and the smell of garbage finally clears, I turn to him with a raised brow and shake my head.
“Damn boy, you have a lot to learn if that’s what you’ve been trolling with the last few years.”
“What’s that smell?” he mutters, ignoring my gibe to sniff at the air.
Whatevs.
“Lasagna, and yes, you can have some. Come on, Flirt, let’s go eat and dissect that brain of yours.”
Chapter Eleven
“The eyes are the nipples of the face.” –Shelley Darlingson
Indie
“No! Shit, are you for real?”
I’m about at the end of my tether as I watch Jones putter around his closet in nothing but a towel and enough skin to make my nips twitch. Honestly, how is it possible for a guy who rides a desk to look this good?
“I like this shirt.”
“It’s gross and you know it. Besides, you’re going on a freaking date, Jones, not to one of those shitty parties you rich people love so much. This woman is normal. N-O-R-M-A-L. She’s not going to be checking whether you’re rocking Armani on Armani or if you mix it up. Jesus, you have a very long stick shoved up that tight ass of yours.”
He’s anal. And not the gross kind some of you are thinking. I’m talking one hundred percent preppy nerd and OCD about his clothes and the way he looks.
Just yesterday, for example, he threw a bitch fit about what I chose for him to wear because the labels didn’t match. Most days it’s a struggle for me to color match and this guy is so weird, he not only color blends but matches designer clothes.
Call me cheap but if your belt costs more than most people earn in a week and your biggest issue about that belt is whether or not it matches with your shoes or tie, you got major problems.
Problems that are seriously starting to drive me nuts and I’ve only been here three days! After he told me my lasagna needed more salt I seriously considered kicking his dick and leaving. I remembered the money, though, and settled on getting him matched as soon as freaking possible.
Only one problem. The man is as picky as they come. Okay, so maybe he’s not like other guys in that he doesn’t call any woman a dog or gross, but he does pass them by with mutterings like “she looks like a loud laugher” and my favorite, “her eyes are too happy. That’s weird.”
I shit you not. I almost swallowed my tongue when the one woman he did agree to meet turned out to be my twin from another quim. Marcy has brown hair cut in one of those weird asymmetrical styles, a nose piercing, a neck tat that makes me drool, and blue eyes I want to snatch and shove into my own sockets.
She’s my kind of people. And he chose her. So here I am, trying to help the boob not make a total failure of a first impression and he wants to go stuck up and preppy?
“Don’t wear a suit, Goddammit. She’s a normal chick who likes hotdogs and baseball, not a socialite with zero percent body fat.”
“I know what I’m doing,” he huffs, dropping the towel as he prowls out of the closet.
I’d look away, I would, but the fact is I don’t want to and why should I? I like his dick and I haven’t seen it in a while. Plus, he seems not to mind as he turns and hops into boxer briefs before pulling on a pink button down and coal-black slacks.
Jones has a killer ass, the kind you see on those male models and slobber over. If I wasn’t so determined to ignore the sexual attraction I feel just looking at him, I would so just walk up to him, grab a handful, and satisfy my curiosity about the tightness and fullness I just glimpsed.
“You know what you’re doing? If it includes bombing on your first date I would agree. I also told you Marcy is not a good match for you but you won’t listen.”
“Based on what?”
I fall back onto his pillows and pretend to be choosing my words while sniffing the delicious smell of Jones wafting up from the sheets.
“She’s not into any of the things you like, she’s a bartender, and she rides a Prius despite the way she looks. If you’re thinking that you’re going for total badass there, I’m sorry to disappoint but she’s just as vanilla as you or I, with a little color thrown into the mix.”
The woman is also so nice and likeable. Jones will like her, no doubt.
And that’s what has a bug up my butt. I want to succeed and win that bonus but part of me hates the thought of him getting his girl and booting my ass out of here.
I like it here after I revamped a little and I’m possibly getting stalker attached to the tub in his bathroom. What! I like long soaks and the thing can fit three people with ease.
Another thing, I like spending time with him even if I keep moaning and griping about sitting around in his office, watching him be useless. It’s not true but I have to complain, it’s who I am.
“You shouldn’t judge people on appearances, Indie,” he says and I feel my eyes go hard and narrow.
“You’re telling me that after you made some shitty comment about me lacking class?”
His pinched face has me giggling and I belly laugh when he curses and shoves his hands on his hips.
“Freddie.”
“Oh give him a break, we thought it was funny.”
“It isn’t.”
“It really is, Mr. Stick Up My Ass. I thought it was really hilarious considering I went to two years of elocution classes that Gramps and Gruffy paid for because they were determined that their animals would at least have manners and use the right fork. After they trained us to use utensils, of course.”
The comment almost hurt until I remembered what a douche Jones is, and the man is not exactly working on all cylinders since I refuse to tell him a thing about me.
“I was being an ass, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve seen you attack your food like a rabid animal and it was pretty telling.”
“Har-har, I’m cracking up here. At least I don’t cut my food into bite-sized pieces and eat in a fucking pattern. I suggest therapy.”
It’s actually really cute and I love the way he shoves food onto my plate because he insists I don’t eat enough during the day. I tried telling him I’m not a pig like him, but he just shrugged me off and shoved a sandwich into my face.
“You sure you’ll be okay alone?”
As opposed to the other dates I’ve set up thus far, Woody does not seem all that jazzed about me tagging along and doing the mediator thing. I tried telling him that we needed to do it that way, sort of like a test run so I could see exactly where his game goes messy and sleaze ball, but he flipped me off and told me to go entertain my vibrator.
What a dick.
“I’m thirty-one years old and I remember how to dial nine-one-two,” I deadpan, giggling softly when he rolls his eyes and starts fussing with his hai
r.
Swear to God, the man is disgustingly vain about his appearance. No wonder he almost suffered a breakdown when I messed with his hair.
“I don’t like leaving you alone after that little asshole let Lynn up here. Keep the deadbolt on and don’t let anyone in unless I’ve called you.”
“I want to go with and mediate. You said I had to get to know you and see you with women.”
“And we did that already. I don’t think I could survive another analysis, thanks.”
I have to bite my lip to stop from laughing at the memory of yesterday’s lunch debacle. Jones can literally not overlook an opportunity to flirt with a woman, any woman. All women. Yesterday’s exercise in patience was me sitting back at his favorite restaurant while he had the waitress giggling and ready to lay herself across the table like a virgin offering.
I did not appreciate that one bit since I may as well have not even been there for all the notice they paid me, and besides, I was starving after he dragged me out of bed at six, made me work out while my brain was still in a coma, and then fed me some green slime smoothie that made my nonexistent tonsils vibrate.
“That was just nasty. Watching you go in for the kill is like watching a two-year-old try to use a spoon. It’s messy, unnecessary, and just tragic.”
Not really. The man had me panting and he wasn’t even looking at me. Jones is seriously skilled in the art of the come-on. But that isn’t all, not by a long shot, and one of the things that is driving me nuts.
He compliments every woman he passes as if just by saying they look nice or telling them he likes their perfume is his duty to all womankind. And it’s sweet as hell. He told a seventy-year-old crone he liked her hair and she giggled so much I was afraid she’d break a hip.
“You need to stop giving superficial compliments to women you’re trying to get to know and dig deeper, Jones. It’s sort of sweet the way you try to make all women feel good on a daily basis, but when it comes to dating it’s not all that great. Remember, you’re not trying to score on the first date, you’re getting to know her.”
He pulls a face and gives me a look.
“I tried to practice, babe, but you weren’t even willing to give me a chance.”
“Agh! Fine. Let’s give it a try while you finish up. Hi, my name’s Indie, it’s so good to meet you, Woody.”
“Good to meet you too, Indie. So tell me, what is it you’re looking for in a man?”
“That sucks.”
“Well I can do that too, babe, but I thought we’d get to know each other first,” he drawls, his eyes going sleepy, doing that sex thing that has my hoo-hoo melting in a not so innocent way.
“See! You can’t even turn it off now! And stop coming onto me as if you want me, loser, it’s ruining the mood,” I huff, though I can’t seem to take my eyes off of him as he stalks forward and comes to lean over me, his face so close his nose is nudging mine.
“But I do want you, Indie. I want you so bad that seeing you on my bed has my dick doing push-ups to get to you. You know why I want to go on this date alone, baby?”
I can’t answer because I’m so soft and melting beneath him, all I can see are his eyes and the very tip of his tongue as he licks at his lips.
“I was going to buy her dinner and get the hell out of there as soon as possible because all I really want to do tonight is spread you out on my bed and eat you till I know what your honey tastes like, what it feels like on my lips and down my throat.”
He’s drawling the words at me and licking my lips with every swipe of his tongue, and all I can do is lay there and absorb the rush of longing that starts beating inside me.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want him right back. I just saw the man naked for heaven’s sake.
I lose all thought when he kisses me, and no matter how wrong I know it is, I kiss him back unapologetically, wildly, taking what I’ve waited weeks for and not sorry at all about where I know this is going to lead.
The kiss is wet, slippery, deep, and I revel in every swipe of his tongue as he forces it into my mouth and sucks my tongue into his.
Of course I can’t lie still worth a damn after this, and before I know it I’ve ripped his shirt apart and my hands are in his pants, my fingers curling around his shaft and stroking at the silky heat streaming from the tip.
“Ah hell yeah,” he groans when I squeeze and lay with the head of his dick. It feels so good I don’t do a thing to stop him when he kisses me again and rips at my short skirt and the black tank I’m wearing.
I’ve never been one to get shy about my body, and tonight is no different when he pulls back and sits back to look at me. My boobs are bigger than most and my legs are spread wide to display my shaved sex, every inch of me heating as his eyes go hot and land back on my face.
“Tell me what you want first.”
What I want first? I want everything. I want him sucking my nipples till I’m ready to explode. I want his fingers in me, on me, touching wherever he wants to touch. I want him going down on me with a need that makes my thighs fall wider. And then I want him inside me, taking me the way I took him in the back of his limo.
My slight movement and the pulsing between my legs makes him smile and I am so onboard with him taking the hint but the damn man is in a teasing mood. Instead of putting his mouth on me, I feel one finger slide from my navel all the way to my sex, slipping into the slit and down, swiping up and down, up and down till I’m wet and hot, tilting my hips into every touch.
“You asked me once, when you and I were both plastered, what I like most about a woman’s body and what I like doing most during sex. I like talking dirty because that more than even touch is so arousing, I could come just looking at you and telling you what I could do to you. As for my favorite part…I like this,” he growls, cupping me. “I’m not gallant or romantic in my sex, and I never say things just for the sake of coming off soft and gentle. I like pussy, I like touching and tasting and sometimes just looking because it’s the one part of a woman’s body that can’t fake a response.”
The feel of his hand pressing at my clit is so good, I moan and push back, my entrance sucking at the fingertip just teasing and holding still.
“This part of you can’t lie. It gets wet and hot when you like what I’m doing, and if I’m doing it right I can feel your heartbeat deep inside. I want in there again, Indie, and I know you want me in here too. Just say the words.”
Say what? That I’ve dreamed of him every night since he touched me that first time and added some of the dirtiest sexual scenes I never knew I could possibly want?
“I want you.”
“Thank God.”
He falls on me then and kisses me so hard I have to rip my mouth away just to breathe. I’m writhing, pulling his hair and yelling orders as he lowers his head and bites my nipple, hard, his tongue hitting the piercing with hard flicks.
The other one gets the same hard, ruthless treatment, though this time it’s free of the intense sensation of the piercing I removed last week, but I feel it too and it’s unlike anything I’ve felt before.
Jones is right. He may be a preppy nerd but the man likes sex and he likes it with edge, I soon discover when he buries his face in my thigh, breathes me in and then bites down gently on the skin of my outer labia.
“Ugh, um, what are you doing? Shit, fuck, ah, do that again.”
The hard feel of his teeth nibbling at my slit is offset by the gentle sweeps of his tongue closer and closer to my clit until I’m pulling at his hair and grinding into his mouth.
I’ve never been one for getting head because it just never did it for me, but Jones is proving inventive and my speed as he alternately licks and kisses and uses hard force on the delicate skin between my legs. I’m so wet by now that when he eases a finger into me and goes on a quest for that place inside that is sure to get me off, I hear the sound of my honey meeting his hand.
Just as I’m about to go off, when that finger crooks against my clen
ching walls and has me ready to explode, he pulls away and sits back on his haunches, looking down at me with enough lust to have me begging for release.
“You want to come, baby?” he asks, shoving his pants and briefs off without leaving his place between my legs.
The sight of his erection, standing thick and heavy, has me keening and reaching out to touch the smooth, silky skin, but he bats my hands away smartly and grins down at me.
“Answer me. Do you want to come?”
“Yes,” I hiss, moaning when he folds a hand around himself and starts stroking strongly.
“I’ll get you there, I’ll give you everything you need,” he grates, coming down over me, his weight held by only his arms as he pushes just the tip into my clenching entrance and stops.
The fullness is amazing and just like that first time I feel the pinch of being overstretched, my body struggling to take his wide girth. Just like the last time I love the sensation, revelling in the knowledge that when he comes into me I’ll be filled to the brim and no part of me will remain empty.
“You like that, baby?”
Oh God, yes, I love it. He’s pushing in slowly, steadily, and unlike the time I rode him he isn’t easy or in any way sensitive to my clenching sheath. This Jones is the sexual beast I’ve heard so much about from giggling conquests who gossip and swoon about him at those parties we both have to attend.
This man knows exactly what he’s doing, just what I need, just how far to push me before I’m ready to break. He demonstrates this power by stopping hallway and looking down at me with lust-filled eyes.
“Before we go any further, I want to talk.”
“What! No. Move,” I scream, digging my nails into his hips and ass, trying to move him or move on him.
“Not yet, not until you and I come to an understanding first. From here on out until I find what I want, I want you in my bed and under me. Just me. We’ll be exclusive and fuck only each other until a time when I’m satisfied that I’ve gotten my girl.”
“Dammit, stop messing around with me and move!”
THE NAUGHTY ONES: The Complete 5-Books Series Page 56
