by Marie York
My hands linked around him, and I pulled him even tighter. A soft moan fell from my lips when I felt his erection press into my center. He wanted me. He could deny it all he wanted. His body told me otherwise.
I pulled back, and looked at him. I could see the desire raging in his eyes, but I could also see the battle he was fighting. He was trying to resist me, but that wasn’t happening. Not this time. I wasn’t going to let him walk away from me again. I leaned up, pressing my lips to his.
His grip on my back stiffened.
“Kiss me back,” I muttered against his mouth. “Don’t make me beg.”
He tilted his head, his lips about to devour me, when he once again pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he said, and his hold on me became nothing but a memory as he jumped away from me.
Tears built in my eyes. There were only so many times a girl could get rejected before she completely fell apart.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, all that would come out was a bunch of incoherent words muffled by sobs.
I stepped back, shaking my head. Beckham reached out to me, and I wrenched my arm away from him. No. He didn’t get to comfort me after he rejected me, again. I went to the bar and ordered another shot.
“Kennedy, talk to me,” he said, but I was done talking. I had nothing to say.
I took the shot, and went back to the dance floor, finding the first single guy, and grinding up on him. He accepted my intrusion, and began to grind with me.
I glanced over my shoulder, and watched the anger creep up Beckham’s neck. Good. I took the guy’s hands and placed them on my hips, as I rocked my ass back and forth into him. His hands stayed taut on my hips, but as the music beat on, and our movements became more languid, he let them travel down my sides.
“Okay, that’s enough.” Beckham’s voice was like having ice dumped on me.
“Go away, Beckham.”
“Yeah, you heard the girl. Go away,” my dance buddy said, and pulled me closer to him.
Beckham’s hands clenched at his side, and before anyone could say another word, Beckham snatched my wrist, and yanked me toward the door.
The fresh air hit me, giving my anger a jolt. I ripped my arm from his grasp. “What the fuck is your problem?” I screamed at him, as we walked around the side of the building.
“What is my problem? You’re the one getting drunk and dancing with random guys who are only trying to fuck you.”
“Didn’t I tell you that’s what I was looking for?”
“Knock it off. You’re going home.”
I pushed my shoulders back and narrowed my eyes. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Let’s go.”
He went to grab my arm again, and I pulled it away from him “You are not my brother, so stop acting like it.”
“No, I’m not, but I still care about you.”
He cared about me. That was a joke. He cared about me so much that he kept kissing me, and leaving me high and dry every time we came close to doing what both our bodies craved, and I was sick of it.
It might’ve been the alcohol talking, but I couldn’t get the question off my mind. “If you cared about me so much, why didn’t you make love to me that night in my bedroom?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “That’s where you want to go with this?”
“I just want to know why. You kissed me back, and then you acted like it was the biggest mistake you ever made. Just like the other day. Just like tonight.” I stepped closer to him, and reached up, resting my hand on his cheek. “I know you feel it too.”
“It doesn’t matter what I feel.” He tried to walk away, but I grabbed his arm and held him in place. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, as I stepped closer to him. I pressed my hand back to his cheek, and he wrapped his fingers around mine. The gentle touch warmed my heart and shot heat to my core.
His gorgeous hazel eyes darkened with desire, but a battle still raged beneath.
“Don’t fight it,” I whispered, brushing my lips against his.
He grabbed my waist, and just when I thought he would pull me tight against him, he yanked away from me. “I can’t.”
“Bullshit!” I yelled. “You and I both know that is a load of crap. Why don’t you want me?” I sounded desperate and pathetic, but I didn’t care. This was years of wondering, questioning every touch and analyzing every sweet word he ever said to me.
Beckham ran his hands over his head, tugging on his bun. Tension pulled tight across his arms, and his veins pulsated under his skin. “You’re Nixon’s little sister.”
“For once in your fucking life, be honest with me because we both know that’s a goddamn lie.”
His jaw clenched, and his Adam apple bobbed.
I moved back over to him, and pleaded one last time. “Just tell me the truth. Why aren’t I good enough for you?”
He pulled away from me again, laying his hands flat on the wall. His head hung between his arms, and after a moment, he slammed both hands into the brick. “Dammit,” he screamed and pushed off the building, turning to face me. He threw his hands out in from of him. “You’re too good for me. That’s the problem.”
I froze, completely shocked by his words.
He rested his hand on his chest, and walked toward me. “I can’t give you what you want. I don’t make love. I don’t know how. I fuck. And you deserve better than that.”
His honesty knocked me back a few steps, but I quickly recovered my footing and took a couple steps towards him in an effort to get closer. Once I was standing back in his space, I ran my finger down Beckham’s arm, and looked up into his striking eyes. I leaned in until my lips were barely a whisper from his. “What if I wanted you to?”
He swallowed and parted his lips, but then placed his hands on his head again, and shook his disapproval. “No. I’m not doing this.” He moved away until his back was up against the brick of the building.
I reached out, balling his shirt in my hand, and running my fingers up his chest. “I want you to. You don’t have to make love to me. I’ll take you, however I can get you. Just stop thinking. You know you want me.” I touched my fingertips to his face, trailing them down his cheek. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re trying so hard not to grab my ass right now. Trying not to tighten your hands on my waist and pull me against that bulge in your pants.”
His eyes locked with mine, and they were frantic and full of lust. “Nixon would kill me,” He said, his voice a horse whisper.
I bit my lip, and ran my fingers up the back of his neck into his hair. “Nixon never has to know.”
He closed his eyes, and then blinked up at me, want pooling in his irises. “No,” he uttered, but his tenacity was waning.
“Forget about Nixon. About everything.” I pushed my hips into his, and moved my head till my lips grazed his ears. “Fuck me.”
His entire body stiffened. The tick in his jaw became more apparent, and I knew I was breaking him down. He reached out, tucking my hair behind my ear, his finger lingering on the curve of my jaw.
“Please,” I begged, and then slid my teeth over my bottom lip. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”
He ran his thumb across my mouth, and I caught the tip with my tongue, swirling a sensual circle. The battle that had been playing out in his eyes had surrendered to desire. He grabbed my face, and pulled me hot against his lips.
My body relaxed into his, soaking up every moment of bliss he gave me. A growl rumbled up his throat as he prodded my crease, begging me to let him in. He didn’t have to beg. I was more than willing to accept. I parted, meeting his tongue in a desperate slick dance.
Warmth crept up my neck, and Beckham flipped us around, backing me against the wall. His hands grabbed my ass, taking a hefty handful. He lifted me off the ground, pressing my back into the brick, as he trailed a scorching line down my neck with his lips.
His fingers dug into my ass. “You make me lose my fucking mind,” he groaned, before n
ibbling on the sensitive skin of my neck.
His hand ran up my thighs, and burning desire imparted its way to every inch of my body. I tightened my legs around him, and pulled him closer, needing to feel his hard cock against my center.
He reached down and pulled my panties away from my slick folds. He traced his finger up and down my clit, circling the swollen nub before thrusting into my wetness. Hot pleasure exploded in my core, and a scream tore from my lips. I muffled the sound against his neck.
His scent engulfed me, and I needed to taste him. I dragged my tongue along his neck and up his ear lobe. His thumb continued to circle my clit, and he plunged another finger into my pussy, pushing me close to the edge.
I needed him inside me, to feel his thickness fill me completely. I reached down, tearing open his pants, and ripping off his belt. He was commando, and his thick heavy cock, glistening with pre cum, sprung out. I reached down and took him in my hand
His fingers slid in and out of me in a slow torturous rhythm. He stared at my lips before smashing his mouth to mine. My back grinded against the wall as Beckham pulled his fingers out, and thrust his hard cock into my dripping wet pussy.
I pulled on his hair as pleasure erupted inside me.
“Oh fuck. You’re so tight,” Beckham growled against my ear as he drove deep into me.
It was hot and animalistic, and knowing we could get caught at any minute only fueled the raging fire within me.
Beckham pulled the top of my dress down, revealing my breast. He bent his head, taking my nipple in his mouth. He sucked and nibbled the taut peak, and my head fell back at the delicious onslaught.
My fingers dug into his shoulder as he pumped into me. A glimmer of sweat coated our bodies, and shimmered in the light of the full moon above us.
Beckham dragged his lips across my neck, and back to my mouth. He swiped his tongue at my crease, and I instantly parted, desperate to taste him again.
Our breathing quickened, our movements became more frantic, as he had us both teetering on the edge. He shoved into me, rubbing my clit with his fingers, sending me spiraling over the edge. I whimpered against his neck as my body shuddered in contentment.
Beckham shoved into me once more, spilling his seed inside me. He rested his forehead against my chest, our heavy breathing mixing, and becoming one. He reached a gentle hand up and brushed my hair from my forehead to behind my ear. His fingers lingered, but then he pulled them away, and put my underwear back into place, before letting me down.
I adjusted my dress, covering my exposed breast. My body was overloading on ecstasy, and I propped myself against the wall incase my knees gave out.
“What the fuck did I just do?” Beckham asked, leaning against the wall. He ran his hands over his face, complete disbelief radiated from him. “Fuck!” he screamed then punched the wall. Blood poured from his hand, but he didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes were lost in a blank stare.
I went to him, taking his hand in my own. “Beckham, what did you do? We need to get you bandaged up.”
He blinked up, the blankness dissolving into shame. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Sorry for what?”
Beckham pulled his hand from mine, and I could only watch as the blood dripped down his fingers. “That should never have happened. And it never will again.”
It was the most amazing sex I ever had, and he was apologizing? My high came crashing down.
“Fuck you,” I said, taking a step back.
“Kenny, you don’t understand. Your brother. He’ll kill me. You and me can’t happen. Let’s just pretend it never did, okay?”
I shook my head in disgust. The man of my dreams finally showed me the passion I always knew was there between us, and now he wanted to act as if it never happened. He might as well have stuck his hand in my chest, and ripped out my heart. “You can do whatever the fuck you want,” I spat, and then ran back to the club. I ignored him calling my name, and went right to the bar.
Chapter 8
I waved the bartender down, and ordered another lemon drop shot. He poured the shot, and pushed it across the bar with a lemon slice. I ignored the lemon and downed the liquid. I placed the glass back on the bar, but dammit, Beckham was still fresh in my mind. I could still feel his mouth on my neck and his fingers running across my heated skin. I pointed to the glass for another. The bartender didn’t waste a second, spinning the bottle, and creating my liquid mind eraser.
Erica ran up beside me, and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “You’re all sweaty. Were you dancing?” she asked as she wiped her own sweaty hair off her forehead.
I tossed the shot down my throat, relishing in the burn. I tossed some cash on the bar. “Yup. Ready to go back out there?” I said with a smile, taking her hand and pulling her toward the dance floor. We walked to the center and moved to the music. With each swing of my hips, thoughts of Beckham faded away, until all I could focus on was keeping myself upright.
“Bathroom,” Erica yelled into my ear.
I gave her a thumbs up, and then hitched it over my shoulder to the bar. “Drink,” I mouthed.
We parted ways, I found my favorite bartender, and signaled to him for another shot. I tossed it back, and the rest of the night became a blur.
***
I woke up. My head felt like it weighed nine hundred pounds, and my mouth was drier than the Mojave. I didn’t remember much from the night before. Everything after Beckham and my hook up was pretty much a black hole.
I rolled over, and opened my eyes to see if Erica made it home, and hoped she could fill me in on what happened, but she wasn’t there. Neither was her bed. I jumped up, and grabbed my head, reminding myself not to make any more sudden movements.
I heard my cell phone, and searched the room, until I found it on a desk. I looked at the screen, and Beckham’s name flashed across it.
I took a deep breath. “Hello?”
“Kennedy, finally. Where the fuck are you?” Beckham demanded.
I looked down, realizing I was in my underwear, and grabbed the blue comforter that was definitely not mine, and pulled it tight around my body. My eyes scanned the room, looking for a clue. For anything that would spark a memory.
“Kennedy, please tell me where you are.”
That was the problem. I had no idea.
The End
Look for the next book in the Perfect Chaos Series
You
available June 8th, 2015
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About the Author
Marie York is an American writer who works the corporate circuit by day but come nightfall transforms into a steamy writer. She loves the city life and a good cocktail.
