“I wasn’t talking about me.” He leaned over, pushing my tank top up and kissing my stomach. I let out a hissed breath, my body instantly heating up from his touch. He continued kissing as he slowly moved back and then pulled my legs up, forcing me to fall on my back.
I gasped. “Brad, what are you doing?”
He kissed a line from my belly button to the top of my shorts. “You said we could still make out.” His fingers trailed below my shorts, rubbing along the silk of my underwear.
“A-a-a-re you going to, um, you know?” I bit my lip, barely even able to get any words out.
“Fuck you with my mouth?”
“I, uh, yeah. I guess that’s what I’m asking.” My cheeks flushed. I didn’t usually get so embarrassed with guys. I was all for sexual innuendoes but I wasn’t very good at the whole dirty talk thing. Most guys I’d been with just wanted to get down to business. I’d never actually even had anyone fuck me with their mouth as Brad called it.
“If you’ll let me.” He pulled my shorts and panties down slightly off my hips, placing feather light kisses on the sensitive skin. I moaned. Fuck, it felt good.
I bit my bottom lip, nodding, since words weren’t forming well in my mouth.
“For the girl that’s always flirting, you sure do get nervous and I find it kind of sexy” He smiled, his blue eyes meeting mine.
“I’ve just never done it. Or this...”
He stopped, snapping his head up. “Wait... are you saying that you’re a—?”
“No, no I’m not a virgin by a long shot. Just a mouth fucking virgin.”
His smile turned into an all-out grin as he pulled my shorts and panties down, sliding them off my legs and tossing them somewhere on the floor. “Then I wanna make this good for you, Peach, because I’m sure you taste just as sweet as one too.”
He bent my knees up and kissed a line from my knees down my inner thighs. My whole body trembled beneath his touch. His thumb traced a line down my center, his eyes smoldering before he crouched down, his lips hovering just above me. His breath was warm on my skin and he moved his thumb to my clit, drawing small circles over it.
Between his warm breath on me and his moving thumb, I was already on the brink of orgasm. I gripped onto the sheets underneath me, letting out a hissed breath.
“Don’t come yet, Peach.” He stopped moving his thumb and bent over, replacing it with his tongue.
My eyes widened, feeling the mixture of his stubble against my thighs with the flick of his warm tongue against my clit. “Oh fuck,” I moaned, bucking my hips up to his awaiting mouth.
He growled, his lips vibrating against my clit. I moved my hands to his hair, pulling it tightly as my knees shook. One of his hands stayed firmly on my hip and he moved his other hand up my trembling thigh before he slowly hooked a finger inside of me as he sucked on my clit.
My toes curled and I gripped harder onto hair, bucking my hips forward into his mouth again and again as my orgasm took hold. I bit down hard on my bottom lip, trying to stop my breathy moans. As I came down from my orgasm, Brad didn’t stop moving his tongue and I felt my body move up to another eruption. He quickened the pace of his tongue, his lips vibrating against me as if he was humming. I pulled harder onto his hair and he moaned against me which was all it took for me to buck my hips forward and come again. This time I couldn’t even hold in my breathy moan.
He stopped moving his tongue and kissed a line up to my belly button, his eyes meeting mine. “You’re so hot when you moan like that.”
I was rendered speechless from his tongue acrobatics so I just smiled, running my fingers through his hair. He slowly moved up, pressing his body against mine. With only the thin fabric of his underwear between us I felt everything as he pressed himself against me. God I wanted to fuck him so bad. If he made the move I was pretty much putty in his hands.
A loud banging came from the front door and I gasped. Brad sat up which only pushed his hard cock right into my core and made me gasp again. Even through his underwear, he was dangerous.
“Bradley! Bradley! It’s Uncle Tony, you in there? You didn’t answer your phone!”
Brad put his finger to his lips, looking down at me before he turned his attention toward the door. “Yeah, sorry! I’m just getting out of the shower. Whaddya need?” he yelled.
“The prep guy called in sick, think you can work this morning?”
“Yeah. That’d be fine, Uncle Tony. I’ll be right down.”
“Ey, can you also ask the new tenant? I tried knocking on her door but she didn’t answer.”
Brad flashed a wink in my direction. “Yeah, I can ask her.”
“Okay. I’ll see you downstairs. But get dressed first. No one wants to see your naked ass.”
He laughed. “Will do, Uncle Tony.”
I waited for what seemed like forever before I finally spoke. “So...does this mean I’m working today?”
Brad leaned over me, resting on his elbows. “That depends. Think you’re up for it?” He raised an eyebrow.
I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Hmmm, well multiple orgasms does make me kind of tired.”
He grinned, kissing me lightly. “I’ll go easier on you next time.”
I tugged his hair. “If there is a next time you’d better not. I like it like that.”
“As long as you’ll keep me around, in whatever this is, I’m willing to try and see where it goes. No labels. No telling Mac.”
“I’m willing to try it too.” I kissed him again, nipping at his bottom lip.
He pulled back, sitting up on the bed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready so I can go work with my non-label friend.”
I laughed and held out my hand. “Just help me up and get me my clothes first.”
***
Thirteen
Mac & Darcy’s Apartment
Saturday
6:41 PM
Mac
The day was long. Between training Liam in the mailroom and then actually being trained for my new job at the company, too, I was back and forth across offices all afternoon. Mostly, Liam understood exactly what he was doing, but he fucked up the mail cart and I spent more than an hour sorting it out so he could distribute mail.
But it was over. Finally. I walked into the apartment, dropped my bag by the door and booked it for the bathroom. Darcy was lounging on the couch, eyes glued to her computer. She barely noticed me, so I ignored her, too, delighting in the cool water of the shower. I spent far too long in there, but Darcy didn’t seem to mind when I returned to the living room. I grabbed a change of clothes and then went to try to change in the bathroom.
My body type was considered petite, since I was short and lean, but even I had a hard time changing in the tiny space. I popped open the door, holding a towel over me and had a great idea. Between the front door and the bathroom, there was a small closet. Darcy had claimed it for her clothes because I had a small dresser, but I threw open the door and the width of it covered most of the hallway, creating a small but larger than the bathroom changing room. It was amazing. I could actually stretch my arms out as I dressed.
“Are you changing in the hallway?” Darcy asked from the other side of my dressing room door.
“Hell yeah, I am. How do you get changed in that little bathroom?” I asked her.
“You’re usually at work, so I just change where you are, without the door being open,” she admitted.
I laughed. “Well, this closet door might come in handy, then.”
“How was work?” she asked.
“Long. I just want to veg. Do you work tonight?”
“No, I picked up a day shift today. I did some more research about self-publishing, though,” she said.
I was fully dressed and closed the door. “Oh yeah? What did you find out?”
“It’s easy to upload our books and it’s pretty much a sure thing. People are making insane amounts of money doing this.”
I didn’t believe in sure things, b
ut decided to entertain her ideas. “Well, let’s get working, then.”
She led the way back to our living room where I took a seat on my bed and she sat on the couch and set her laptop on her lap.
“There’s a lot of moving pieces, of course, like editing, cover design, formatters, and then the actual uploading of the books,” she started. I gestured for her to continue, content to let her explain it all to me. “Okay, so once we write our books, we have to get them properly edited. I’ve been scouring blogs for tips on self-publishing, and the number one complaint from readers is a lack of editing. There are a bunch of blogs that list free-lance editors, so we can choose one from any of those lists. Next is cover design. I’ve found everything from pre-made covers to custom photo shoots with real models and professional photographers who sell you the images to use. There are photographers who are also designers, so they could put the pretty fonts on the cover. It’s actually kind of neat. I’m keeping a list of all these different people in this notebook,” she said, holding up a ratty, old spiral notebook. I laughed at the sight of it. “B-Rad let me have it.”
“That’s good, ‘cause we can barely make rent, let alone spend money on notebooks. Is the pen his, too?”
“Nope. I swiped it from one of the waitresses downstairs,” she explained.
I laughed. “Amazing.”
“One of the other things we should discuss is keeping a blog,” Darcy started.
“What the fuck is a blog?” All this new information was overloading my already too-full brain. The day was insane, and getting worse. Or possibly better, depending on what happened with the publishing thing.
“A blog is like an online journal. You write posts about yourself, your world, and what you’re doing. Then you can use hashtags to get more traffic to the blog.”
“Hashtags. Like on Twitter and Instagram?” I asked.
“Exactly. Facebook also does hashtags now, which is cool. They haven’t quite blown up like they did on Twitter and Instagram, but they’re available. Once the blog post is written and hashtags assigned, we put the post out into the world and then share it on all our social media outlets,” she finished.
I thought for a minute, working it all out in my head. “It sounds simple enough. Do we each need to have our own blog?”
“Most authors do their own, but some share. I thought we would share because we’re both so new to this. Then we could each do separate posts, too, so our fans get a glimpse of each of us, you know?”
“When do you want to write our first post?” I asked, still uncertain, but willing to give it a try.
“How about right now?” Darcy replied. “I’ve started our blog page. We just need to name it.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because a good blog name could speak volumes to our fans. It gives them a little insight into who we are,” she explained.
“So, fans want to know who we are, huh? We’re hopeless in Hotlanta,” I muttered, a lame attempt at a joke.
“That’s perfect!” she screeched.
“What?”
“Hopeless in Hotlanta. It’s a perfect blog name. Let’s get this journey started,” she said with a smirk. I couldn’t help but smile back.
Hopeless in Hotlanta
Hello, and welcome to Hopeless in Hotlanta, the scandalous lives of D & M as we navigate the world of writing in the underbelly of one of the hottest cities.
And by hot, I mean it’s ninety degrees in May.
Most of our posts will be individual about our writing, lives, and whatever the hell else we feel like telling you about. Occasionally we’ll get together and write a post that will hopefully be witty and entertaining or you’ll just laugh your ass off.
So what can you expect now?
We’re both working on our first books (titles and purchase links to come later). In the meantime you can follow us as we make this journey from Hopeless to Hopefully Hopeful.
We write together. We die together. Bad girls for life.
~D & M~
***
Fourteen
Darcy and Mac’s apartment
Wednesday
10: 00 AM
Darcy
Truth be told, the only reason I ever wanted to be an English major was because I wanted to be Judy Blume when I grew up. One of my mom’s many boyfriends was really into literature and bought me a boxed set of her books for Christmas when I was younger. The boyfriend left, like all the other ones, but the books stayed with me forever. My worn out, dog-eared copy of Forever went just about everywhere with me. Every random guy I stayed with and every shitty home I’d lived in, Judy Blume was forever.
Now, finally, I was sitting down and writing, with the actually possibility of being published. Self-publishing was my ticket to finally putting my work out there and proving I was worth something.
Mac sat on the bed with a giant pair of pink headphones over her ears, typing away on her lap top. She always got pissed off when I interrupted her when she was writing, but I was too excited not to.
“Mac!” I yelled.
Of course she didn’t even look up. Her music was so loud I could hear it from the couch across from her. Since yelling wasn’t going to work I decided to set my computer down and actually crawl on her bed. I tapped her foot a few times. “MAC!”
“Can’t hear youuuuu,” she said, not even looking down at me.
“I know you can hear me or else you wouldn’t have said that.” I sat up and pushed her computer screen down.
“What the fuck?” She pulled her headphones off, some old school pop punk music blaring from them.
“I just finished my first chapter and I wanted to see if you wanted to switch. Like read each other’s chapters and give feedback.”
She shrugged, pausing her music. “Okay, that sounds doable.”
“Great!” I crawled off the bed and grabbed my laptop handing it to her and she scooted her laptop toward me as I sat down next to her.
Mac’s writing style was interesting to say the least. I expected her and I have to write similar stories, maybe both have a bit of romance in them... or something I could relate to, but Mac’s story was none of that. I couldn’t even pronounce half the words and there was something about dragons and mythical creatures in some mountain town.
I sucked in a deep breath as I finished the last sentence.
“Blixt you must go to them and find the slayer,” Queen Y’ust whispered.
I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to say. I guess everyone had their own thing that they wrote, but high fantasy? What the hell?
Mac closed my computer and turned to me. “What the fuck is this fan fiction shit you’re writing?”
I grabbed my laptop, cradling it in my arms like it was a baby. “It’s not fan fiction! It’s a contemporary romance!”
“Uh huh, a British boy band with a dude named Barry Myles falls for an American girl that works at a pizzeria. That doesn’t sound at all like your own fantasy fan fiction.”
“Fiction, Mac, Fiction. And it’s better than whatever the hell this fantasy shit is you’re writing. Dragons? Queens? Mountain towns? I thought you would be writing a romance or something that people actually read.” My defenses were up. I was proud of my first chapter and now she was treating it like it was no better than the fan fiction that random girls posted online.
Okay, so Barry may have been loosely based on a British boy bander and my lead female was kind of based on me, but it was fiction. Pure fiction. Okay, and maybe just a little bit of fantasy.
“A lot of people like high fantasy and I happen to be one of them!” She yanked her lap top back.
“Really? You mean to tell me that you sit around reading books about Jodo who wants to find some precious ring?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re a fucking moron. It’s Frodo. Didn’t you at least watch the movies?”
I shook my head. “Nope. No desire to sit through three hours of that shit. I’d rather see a Judd Apatow movie
any day. Did you know that he’s married to Leslie Mann, who plays the sister on Knocked Up and those are his two kids in that movie?”
Mac raised her eyebrow. “How do you know this random shit?”
“People magazine is kind of my guilty pleasure. I think I have last week’s issue somewhere in my bag if you want to read it.”
She held her hand up. “No, I’m cool. I’m not really into all that celebrity gossip stuff.”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Mac’s phone vibrated on the bed between us and she picked it up, probably happy to break our conversation. “Hey, Kiki. Okay. Yeah.”
I listened to bits of her conversation with the mythical gatekeeper known as Kiki. The girl called her in the mornings, told her about a new job and Mac went running, but it was unusual for her to have a call this late in the day.
“Okay, thanks Kiki. I’ll be there soon.” Mac hung up the phone, tossed it on the bed and stood up.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“Kiki has a new job for me, three to eleven doing the late shift at some high end clothing store. I guess they’re packed in the summer and need some extra help. It shouldn’t be too bad.”
“That sounds cool.” I nodded.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower, so if you have to pee do it now or forever hold your pee.” She sauntered into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
I could have gone back to working, but Facebook stalking sounded a lot more fun. I only had a cheap ass flip phone, so I was stuck doing all my internet stuff on the computer. It didn’t make it any easier that we were using the free Wi-Fi out of the pizzeria, so the connection was always spotty.
As soon as I logged on there was a message waiting for me.
Congrats, Darcy!
You’ve won two reader tickets to The Savannah Author Event in beautiful, Savannah, Georgia! Check in at the hotel on Friday and your VIP tickets will be waiting for you at the event registration table. Below I’ve included a link with all of the hotel information and the itinerary.
A Tale of Two Pretties Page 8
