One Wrong Choice (A Cruel and Beautiful Book Book 3)

by A. M. Hargrove

  I take another finger and work it in, causing her back to arch. Knowing she’s close, I suck her clit in my mouth and apply pressure until she spasms around me. I rise over her and position myself at her entrance. Before I push inside her, I bend down to kiss her, savoring the moment. When I inch my way inside, she sucks in a breath so deep, I wait a beat before I make shallow thrusts in and out to ease my way in her tight pussy.

  Her walls continue to contract from her first orgasm as I move from her mouth to her breasts. I use one hand on my cock to keep it aimed true and the other to lock her wrists above her head as I continue to suck her rosy nipple in my mouth.

  By the time she goes limp underneath me, I strain to maintain control. Her pussy grips me so tight, I’m on the verge of spilling my seed, and I want this to last.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, taking my mind off of the intense sensations.

  “Never better. Don’t stop.”

  I take her mouth, kissing her as I increase my pace. The more I thrust, the deeper I seem to go.

  “Oh my God,” she repeats over and over.

  I let go of the base of my cock and raise her right leg, giving me more room. I angle my cock to hit that spot that makes her back leave the bed. I free her arms, and she loops them around my neck. Standing, I let gravity pull her all the way down on me. Her cries of pleasure make me lose my shit. I come like a racehorse released from the starting gates, continuing to bounce her on my dick until we are both sated.

  Spent, I free-fall on the bed back first with her in my arms. My dick slides free, and it’s too damn bad. I miss her warmth.

  Sleepy eyes meet mine, but she manages to crawl up and give me a quick kiss.

  “That was incredible,” she murmurs.

  It’s the first time anyone has said that to me, and it matters. Sex has never been any better with anyone else because she matters.

  “So, you’ll let me do it again?” I ask with a cheesy grin.

  Twenty-Six

  Jenna

  Let him do it again? Is he kidding me? He can fuck me sideways and every which way till Sunday. Had I known what I’d been missing, I would’ve been chasing this man down like my hair was on fire.

  “Maybe. Once more. Or a dozen. Today. And then double that tomorrow,” I say with a cheeky grin.

  He barks out a laugh, but only for a second before his mouth crashes onto mine. Searing lips stir my body to life again, even when I thought I’d be Jell-O for days. One minute he’s licking my sex to the point of climax, and the next he whips me around so I can mount him like the horse he is. I have no idea when the man rolled on a condom, but one magically appears on his dick and I have to wonder for a second how big the damn thing is.

  Sitting on top of him, reverse cowgirl, gives fucking a whole new meaning for me. Now I know what a rodeo queen feels like. Until he slides a finger into my puckered hole, and then I’m the bucking bronco, trying to contain my body from rocketing off him onto some unnamed planet.

  When my intense orgasm eases up, he picks me up like I weigh no more than a stuffed animal and lays me on my side, then kneels in front of me. Apparently, he’s not done with me yet. He opens my thighs wide, and places one around his waist and straddles the other. Then he slowly, inch by aching inch, glides inside of me, and my fingers nearly rip through the sheets. Except it gets better because he repeats this action, only he speeds it up a little each time. He leans forward a little, and the pressure on my clit is intense.

  “Don’t come yet. I want this one to be drawn-out a bit.”

  “Then you have to stop,” I pant. He eases back, and I’m immediately trapped by his dominating presence. He’s all heat and muscles, ink and darkness—everything that all the other men I’ve been with weren’t. He’s bad to the bone, only I don’t really think he is. He only appears that way. But he’s also magnificently beautiful. A perfect body with a face to match—not the pretty type, but the kind that’s taken his share of bumps and hard knocks. This man is not afraid of things. He’s self-assured and in control.

  His eyes don’t leave mine for a second, and I wonder if he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking. His cock slightly moves again. In and out. Repeat. But then he tilts his head, grins wickedly, and says, “Hold on, Cupcake. I’m talking you for a ride.”

  In one solid thrust, he seats himself to the hilt, and I suck in my breath, in a good way. My back instantly arches in response, telling him I’m all in. That’s all he needs. Brandon is a fuck machine, and his cock is more like a magic wand—and I don’t mean the kind that comes with a cord attached. It commands my pussy to do things I didn’t know it was capable of—such as orgasming at the blink of an eye. When Brandon groans his out, I’m pretty sure I’m on my second during this round.

  “What a majestic cock you have,” I mumble when I’m capable of speaking.

  His finger circles my nipple, and I have a feeling it won’t be long before he goes in for round three. But he leaves to get rid of his condom first, and I miss his warmth, just like that.

  Brandon returns, wearing a warm smile, and maneuvers us both under the sheets. He doesn’t speak, but wraps his lips around a nipple and tugs at it playfully. I want to slap him away, but he moves to the other nipple before I have a chance. Not only does he own a magic cock, but his mouth is pretty damned impressive, too.

  I get an urge so I shove him off, and it takes a lot of oomph to push him an inch.

  “What? Don’t you like?” he asks.

  “I do, but I have something else in mind, only you’re like moving a concrete wall.”

  “Is that right?”

  His biceps are almost as big as my thighs. Okay, maybe not that big, but whatever. “Yes. Please roll over,” I say with sugar lacing my request.

  His raspy chuckle gets me nervous. I hope I can get his dick past my teeth. Giving head has never been my finest moment. It’s always been one of those things where I know I suck. And not literally. I’ve never had the balls to ask Cate how she does it. The guys I’ve been with usually never requested it again after the first or second time I tried it. They would instruct me not to use my teeth and all, but I’d get so caught up in things, I guess I’d get carried away. Let’s see how this works on Brandon.

  Right before I dive in, or down as it is, I look up at him, and I know he has to think that must be sexy. I mean, what guy wouldn’t, right? A girl with her mouth right next to his dick, looking up. My fingers are crossed.

  Opening my mouth, I wrap my lips around the large mushroom head of his cock. It smells manly and of sex, and it’s time to deliver. I hollow my cheeks and do my best imitation of a Hoover that I can muster. What I find difficult is coordinating the suck and tongue swirling thing that I read about in romance novels. I even practiced on a cucumber once. I’m not sure this is working out so well. It seems I can’t keep my teeth out of it because of his girth.

  After a couple of ow’s and a little less teeth instruction from Brandon, he must figure out that I’m worthless as a head-giver. His hands pull me up so we can be face-to-face, and he says, “How about we just kiss for a while?”

  I blurt out, “It’s not you. It’s me.”

  “What?”

  “I’m an awful blower.”

  He barks out a laugh and slowly nods. It’s no surprise he agrees. He doesn’t verbalize it, though when there is no response to my statement, I know it to be true. But I don’t want him to think it was because of his size, so I explain my dilemma of having an uncoordinated tongue, and how I even practiced on a vegetable once.

  “You actually tried to blow a cucumber?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to learn how to do it.” The admission isn’t very easy, so I say it to the crumpled sheets in my hand.

  “Look at me, Jenna.”

  While the corners of his eyes are crinkled with mirth, there is kindness in them, too.

  “Are you going to make big fun of me? Because tell me now so I can prepare myself.”

  “Prepare yourself? How�
��re you going to do that?”

  Using my thumb as a directional, I ask, “See that pillow over there?”

  “Sure. What about it?”

  “I’m going to gracefully bury my head beneath it.”

  And that gets the biggest laugh out of him, so I pull the sheets over my head.

  The sheets are ripped out of my hands, and his sexy face looms over me. “Do you have any idea of how long I’ve been waiting for this? Do you know how long my dick has been hard for you? I’ve carried a torch, yes torch, for you since—hell, it’s been so long now, I can’t even tell you when. Years. How’s that? So, do you think because your talents lie more in the fucking category rather than in the giving head category, that I care? Honestly—do you even want the truth here?”

  “Yes!”

  “Okay, I’ll give it to you then. Blowjobs aren’t my first choice, and it’s because most women can’t adequately suck me off. It’s a size thing, I believe. So frankly, I really don’t give a fuck whether or not you even attempt to give me another one. If you want to lick my dick a little, I’ll go for that, but the whole vacuum-tongue swirling thing, just give me a hand job, and I’ll be happy.”

  I raise myself up to my elbows so I can be eye level with him. “Are you fucking serious? All this time I’ve been worried that I was inadequate because my stupid tongue acts like my feet on the dance floor when I get super drunk.”

  He grabs my wrist, saying, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s this about your feet? An uncoordinated tongue is one thing, but feet,” he shakes his head, “I’m not so sure about that.”

  It’s his delivery that has me rolling over on my back and pounding the mattress with my fist. I howl so loud, I sound like a coyote.

  When I glance at him, a grin covers his face, and I can’t help the way my heart flutters. It sounds so fucking lame when I think it, but it’s the truth. No man has ever had this effect on me except Brandon.

  “Show me.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Get over there,” he points to an area in my room near the window, “and show me. Dance for me.”

  “But I’m sober. You won’t get the total effect of my dorky feet unless I’ve done some shooters.”

  “Where’s your liquor cabinet?” There’s barely contained laughter in his voice.

  “You can’t be serious?” I ask, shocked from the hair on my head to the ends of my toes.

  “Oh, but I am. Where is it?”

  I direct him to the kitchen, and in a few minutes, he returns with two shot glasses and a bottle of Herradura.

  “Brandon, I have to work tomorrow.”

  “I don’t plan on getting completely shitfaced. Only a little. And it’s early—not midnight or anything.”

  “All righty then. No limes or salt?”

  He trudges out of the room as though I’ve given him the worst possible task in the world. However, he’s naked, so I appreciate the view going and when he comes back bearing a platter that holds lime slices and a saltshaker.

  “For you, mademoiselle.” He bows before me. He looks so ridiculous holding all that stuff, I giggle uncontrollably.

  After our third shot, he says, “Go for it, Twinkle Toes.”

  “But I’m not drunk yet,” I argue. “Besides, I need some music.” I stumble out of bed, and the shots plow into me. In a huge way. Three shots. Hmm. That’s weird. Then I remember I did drink a few mimosas at brunch. Maybe they were lingering. Turning back to the bed, I reach for the bottle and say, “One more, please.”

  He obliges and hands me a lime and the saltshaker. Then I hunt my phone and my Bluetooth speakers so I can crank up the music. When things are set to go, I turn on “This Is What You Came For” by Calvin Harris and Rihanna and start to move. My upper body looks fine—I think, but my lower body is disconnected. And then there are my feet. By the time the song is half over, I’m totally into it, tequila taking over any coherent thought in my head. And, of course, I’m naked as a newborn baby, all my bits jiggling here and there. When that song ends, the next one up is Kesha’s “Die Young” and then “Tik Tok.” By the time the three songs finish, my feet contortion has been activated, and Brandon sits on the edge of the bed with a stricken look on his face.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You’re right. Your feet are terrible, but I gotta say, I love your tits and ass when you dance. And really if I wasn’t checking out your feet, I’d never notice.”

  Another surge of the giggles hits, but I’m wondering if this time it’s because of the Herradura. Who cares? I’m having a blast. And then I think of something.

  “Hey, will you teach me?”

  He looks stumped. “Teach you what?”

  “How to properly suck a dick. Like really do it right.”

  He pats his thighs. “Come over here.”

  I drop down between his legs, and his heavy cock stares me in the eyes. Hmm, even in my drunkish state, that bugger is huge.

  “Grab my balls and squeeze them gently. While you do that, run your tongue up and down here.” He points to the underside of his penis, which is now the topside because I’ve picked up the baby beast. I follow his direction. “Take the tip in and suck, but put your lips over your teeth. Don’t worry about any fancy tongue swirling.”

  I’ve got this so far. Squeeze balls a little and suck the tip. No teeth.

  “Fist my cock with your free hand, and slide your hand up and down in sync with your mouth.”

  “Mmm hmm.” I can’t really talk because, well, you know.

  “Yes, like that. Now take some more in.”

  I gotta be honest here. There’s not a whole lot more I can take in or the damn thing will be in my esophagus. But I try.

  “Keep fisting me. Yeah, exactly like that. And moan a little. The vibrations are killer.”

  Who knew? None of my How to Give the Best Blowjobs Ever books mentioned a thing about moaning. But when I do, he grabs my head on both sides and pumps into me. My mouth waters, and I am definitely afraid I’m going to gag by accident. But Brandon must know exactly how deep to go, because I never do. I moan, he pumps, I fist and squeeze, reminding myself continually not to bare my teeth. My lips are going to be so swollen after this.

  Not much later, he says, “I’m going to come. This is your out.”

  My out? Hell no! This is the first time in the history of Jenna that I’ve ever been able to make a man shoot off using my mouth and he asks me if I want out. Is he crazy? I keep up the action like he instructed, and soon, the back of my throat warms with the spurting of his cum. Making sure I soak up every last drop, I let him go with a satisfied smile.

  I lean back on my heels and ask, “Well? How’d I do?”

  With a growl, he picks me up and kisses my already puffed up lips. Keeping them tight over my teeth like that really was difficult.

  “You okay?” He wants to know.

  Touching my lips with two fingers, he moves them aside and checks them out. “Hmm. You really did keep those teeth away from my dick, didn’t you?”

  “Well, yeah. I didn’t want to scrape you raw or anything.”

  “But, Jenna, look at your lips. They’re all inflamed now. I didn’t mean for you to bruise yourself like that.” And he chuckles. Then laughs.

  “Do they look that bad?”

  “Let’s go get some ice for you. Let me look at the inside.” He rolls my lips back and proclaims there are teeth indentations on both the upper and lower ones.

  I need to check them out so I stand in front of the mirror. “Oh, great. I look like I had my lips plumped up with that silicone stuff. This is awful.” I can’t keep touching them because it’s hard to believe these are my lips.

  “Ice will help.”

  He fills a baggy with ice, and we stand in the kitchen while I press the thing to my inflated lips. He nuzzles my neck and says, “That was the best blowjob I’ve ever had, by the way.”

  “Aw, you’re just saying that so I don’t get a complex over these inner tube lips.
”

  “No, I’m heart attack serious. It was really great.”

  As we’re standing there, the doorbell rings.

  My eyes saucer, and I immediately stare at him because we’re both nude. “Who can that be?” I ask.

  “Why are you asking me? I don’t live here.”

  I smack myself in the forehead and say, “Oh, yeah.” I sneak up to the door and look out the peephole. Holy mother of God, it’s my mother! I do a quick spin—which makes me dizzy as hell but is actually quite a fantastic dance move—and mouth to Brandon, it’s my mother.

  He raises his hands in the universal so what gesture. I run into the kitchen and whisper-yell to him, “What do you mean, so what? She’s going to kill me when she sees I’m drunk and it’s only,” I hunt for a clock to see the time, “seven o’clock.”

  The bell rings again.

  “Oh, fuck. What am I gonna doooo? Let’s hide.”

  “Hide? Where would we hide?”

  “Under the bed. Come on.” I try to drag him into my room, but he won’t follow.

  Then she pounds on the door, which is so unlike my mother, and yells, “Open up, Jenna Rhoades. I know you’re in there. I see your car out here.”

  “Oh, shit. I am so fucked. She’s going to ground me.”

  Brandon cracks up, like this is the funniest thing in the world. Then he says, “Let’s get dressed and let her in.”

  “Let her in?” I squeak. “We can’t let her in. She’ll see that we’ve been having intercourse and fellatio and that I’ve been indulging in liquor.”

  Brandon bends over in half and is laughing so hard, I want to strangle him.

  “This is so not funny.”

  “Jenna, I’m giving you two minutes, and then I’m using my key.”

  “Oh my God, she has a key.”

  “We best get dressed, Cupcake.”

  I skedaddle into my bedroom, throw on my dress, and don’t even pay any attention to what Brandon does. I leave him in there. Don’t ask me why. It was stuuuupid. Then I run to the front door and open it with a silly grin on my face.