Taking It Slow
Doing Bad Things Book 3
Jordan Marie
Copyright © 2018 by Jordan Marie
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, groups, businesses, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Robin with Wicked By Design
Model: Terrence Cooper
Photographer: Wander Aguiar with Wander Aguiar Book Club
WARNING: This book contains sexual situations and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 and above.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Title
Blurb
1. Faith
2. Titan
3. Faith
4. Titan
5. Faith
6. Titan
7. Faith
8. Titan
9. Faith
10. Titan
11. Faith
12. Titan
13. Faith
14. Titan
15. Faith
16. Titan
17. Faith
18. Titan
19. Faith
20. Titan
21. Faith
22. Titan
23. Faith
24. Titan
25. Faith
26. Titan
27. Faith
28. Titan
29. Faith
30. Faith
31. Titan
32. Faith
33. Titan
34. Faith
35. Titan
36. Faith
37. Titan
38. Faith
39. Titan
40. Faith
41. Titan
42. Faith
43. Titan
44. Faith
45. Titan
46. Faith
47. Titan
48. Faith
49. Titan
50. Faith
51. Titan
52. Faith
53. Titan
54. Faith
Epilogue
The End
Prologue
Preorder
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By:
Jordan Marie
A bottle of tequila
10 lime wedges
1 sexy blonde
Add in a crazy Vegas weekend
Lick and swallow
What do you get?
A recipe for disaster.
Last night I got married.
I think.
I was drunk off my ass, so it's not exactly crystal clear.
But I woke up with a ring on my finger, a marriage certificate, and a sneaking suspicion I’d had a wild wedding night.
Oh, and a bride who is long gone.
Apparently, what happens in Vegas doesn't always stay here.
Sometimes it takes off running.
Now I’m chasing after my runaway bride with divorce on my mind.
What could go wrong?
Besides everything.
Dedication
To my readers:
You inspire me every day. You make me someone who takes a chance, goes against the norm and embraces change. It takes courage, you give me that. You are part of the reason this world is so great and I am grateful to each of you.
Xoxo
J
1
Faith
I whimper when the damn ping of my phone won’t hush. I squint, opening one eye—and one eye only.
Sweet Jesus on a turnip truck, I drank way too much last night. I warned Hope I didn’t do weddings. I hate them. She was in Vegas, and everyone knows you do the deed at a quicky drive-thru chapel somewhere and get it done—if you are ever crazy enough to say “I do.”
I won’t… ever.
Slowly the room begins to come into a focus… it’s a blurry focus, but still.
The first thing I notice is everything hurts.
Even my hair.
Definitely had too much to drink. The second thing I notice is I’m not in my one-room apartment, lying on my broken-down, never comfortable, probably ruining my back forever, futon.
I’m in a bed. A really soft bed. I’m also in what appears to be a very fancy room. A room with entirely too much sunshine coming in through the windows. My gaze immediately goes to the open glass doors that lead out to a balcony. When I look around I can see I’m not only in a strange hotel room, I’m in one that costs bank.
Lots of bank.
Then, I just happen to notice the crumpled wedding dress on the concrete floor of the balcony.
That’s when panic begins, as memories flood through my mind.
Memories of the night before.
Of course, it might not be the crumpled dress that brings those back quite as much as the huge leg—not that leg—wrapped over mine, the arm currently wrapped across my stomach and the third leg—yes, that “leg”—pushing against my ass.
I look down at the milk chocolate beast of an arm and I swear the female bits between my legs tingle as memories of the night before flood through me. Memories of… Titan. I have the strongest urge to wiggle against the semi-aroused cock pressing against my ass, but I don’t. I hold myself really still.
Because I’m in the middle of the biggest panic attack ever.
I can’t remember all of what I did last night. It’s a blur of devil’s juice, eating the worm—disgusting, by the way, and I may never drink tequila again—and sex… so much sex.
Sex everywhere. Bed, floor, shower, closet—don’t ask—and against the wall. Sex against the floor-to-ceiling window with my ass mooning the strip, but… sex on that balcony after I was stripped of my wedding dress is the one that sticks in my mind. Sex where I hung over the concrete balcony screaming, “Fuck me, harder, Big Daddy,” while Titan did indeed fuck me harder for everyone and anyone to see. There are other balconies close by. I can’t be entirely sure who saw us… or who we may have scarred forever.
Because, let’s face it, sex in real life is never like the porn movies.
I slide out of the bed an inch at a time—panic making my heart slam against my chest so loud I want to cry, because my head hurts like hell. Titan grumbles but flops over on his back, still asleep. I stand there looking down at him and I can’t move.
He’s that beautiful.
His arms are slung out on each side, his head turned to the side, his well-trimmed goatee and beautiful, thick lips making my knees weak. The sheet is tangled in his feet and his dick is obviously alert, even if the rest of him isn’t.
The sight of his dick makes me glad I was drunk last night.
Lord have mercy on me, a poor sinner girl… He’s huge. I take a step toward it before I can stop myself. It’s bobbing up in the air like it’s nodding at me. It’s wide, as in—thick as hell. How many women has this man sent running from the room in fear—that kind of thick. I’ve seen a few dicks—I’m not a whore or anything—not counting last night—but I have, and this one is in a class all by itself. And he’s long. I don’t have a tape measure on hand, and I wouldn’t risk waking Titan up for it, but this man could be the pink unicorn of dicks. He could actually be a foot long. He might not be, but it would not surprise me. I back away when Titan grun
ts in his sleep. Each step I take hurts, only adding credence to Titan’s dick. Damn, I might not walk right for a month.
I run bare-ass naked to the balcony. It’s early, the sun is shining, but the Vegas heat hasn’t raised its evil head yet. I’m definitely going to have to soak my poor abused body soon, however. I can feel where Titan has drilled—so to speak—with each step. I grab the wedding dress and step into it, trying to remain bent over so I cover my body. I might not have been shy last night in my tequila haze, but I don’t have that luxury today. I shove my hands through the dress, rising up so I can zip it—when I hear a throat clearing. I look behind me and see a man standing on a balcony behind me, grinning.
He’s older, as in probably Uncle Jansen’s age, and he’s wearing a cowboy hat. He’s sexy, but not my style.
“Morning,” he smirks, his Texan accent strong.
I give him a tight smile over my shoulder and then reach behind me to zip up the dress and hide my ass from the guy—even if it is a little too late. Walking back into the room, I look around for my shoes. I see some empty condom wrappers—thank you Jesus! I also see an empty bottle of tequila and Titan’s clothes.
Titan Marsh… pro football player, a hell of a good time in bed, and … my husband.
That last part makes me cringe. I don’t want a husband. He didn’t want a wife. We discussed that numerous times while drinking tequila and gambling the night away. How we ended up in that all-night Elvis wedding chapel, I don’t remember exactly. But I clearly remember saying “I do” and twirling my hips like Elvis when he proclaimed us husband and wife. I also remember turning to Titan and demanding—in my best Meg Ryan voice—to take me to bed or lose me forever.
He did take me to bed, but he didn’t get the whole Top Gun reference. I get the feeling Titan isn’t a big movie buff.
I look around for a few more minutes and pick up my veil, looking at the white converse tennis shoes and frowning. I wore tennis shoes to my wedding?
Whatever.
I put them on and lace them up quickly. Just as I’m heading out the door, I find a blue flowered garter. It’s on the entry table. I pick it up and start to stuff it into my pocket, but the dress doesn’t have pockets.
I look back at Titan and then down to the gold band on my hand. I walk back toward him, still feeling him between my legs with each step I make. I clutch the garter tightly in my hand. As I look down at the sleeping man, with the dick that apparently never sleeps, I only know one thing. I don’t want to be married.
He’s damn good in bed, though.
Decision made, I toss my garter toward his dick. It snags on the wide head, and lands at an angle. Titan’s hand comes down and he cups his balls before scratching them. I watch, my mouth falling open and my eyes widening in shock.
When the garter decides to fall down the long shaft of his dick I have to fight back a giggle. Then I hightail it out of the room. I don’t stop to think, I don’t stop to take in the strange stares I’m getting from the people in the elevator or in the lobby. I head straight for the door.
2
Titan
I stretch and groan as I feel my back make a popping noise. Years of football are slowly catching up with me. I know I don’t have many good years left in me. That’s one reason I’m making the life choices I’m making—and I hate every fucking one of them. The life of a pro-baller is short for the most part and I was a stupid fuck and didn’t plan for the future.
I move my neck back and forth and as it snaps and pops I begin to feel a little more human. I’ve got a fuck of a hangover. I don’t remember much of last night. Just that I left Aden’s wedding with a hot little blonde… She’s obviously not here this morning, though. Too bad. I could have used a good workout before I load up and head back to Cali. I reach down to rub my balls, a silent apology, because they’re hurting this morning. I frown when I feel lace material against my hand. I sit up and notice there’s…. a garter? It’s laying against my balls, my dick sticking up from the center of it.
I don’t remember the chick from last night wearing garters… but she had on this sweet little dress that clung to her luscious ass, so it’s possible, I guess. I pull the garter off, wadding it up in my hand.
Whatever.
She’s gone and I need to get rolling too.
I stand up, stretching the kinks in my back. Yeah, I’m definitely getting too damn old for this shit. I look at the garter, and then throw it in the trash. It seems to stare back at me—mocking me. For some weird reason, I pick it up and toss it back on the bed.
In the shower, I relax into the hot spray, my eyes closed. I smell like lemons. Never really liked that fucking smell before, but yet it reminds me of Faith… Faith Lucas. That’s her name. The longer I’m awake the more the memory of her begins to come back. Gorgeous bod, definitely a ten, and that ass is an ass to make men beg. I can’t really remember what we did last night… but my balls are sore, so I’m hoping that means it was fucking good.
I reach over to the bottle of body wash and grow completely still. The bottle is black, my hand the same brown it’s always been, but the gold band on my finger…
Now that’s definitely new.
I drop the bottle like it’s hot, ignoring the way it crashes against the tile. I stomp out, not caring water is going everywhere, not caring I don’t have a towel. I trace my steps, and then look in the main bedroom. There’s nothing really out of place there. Condom wrappers and an empty bottle of Patron… I’d pat myself on the back if I wasn’t sporting a damn ring on my finger.
I walk through the rest of the giant room. The small sofa in front of the television grabs my attention. More importantly, the manila envelope on the sofa grabs my attention.
I all but rip it open and what I find has me falling back on my ass. The couch scoots a good foot with my weight, but I don’t care. All I can think about are the two large words at the top of the paper I’m holding.
Marriage… Certificate…
Fuck.
3
Faith
“What do you mean you’ve left Vegas?” Hope asks, and I hear that voice.
I know that voice.
That’s the voice that she gets whenever she’s about to go into big sister mode. The voice she always gets when she wants to begin her Faith-you-can’t-go-through-life-and-never-grow-up speech. I hate that speech. In fact, today is too pretty to hear it.
“Just what I said. I got tired of Vegas. I’ve decided to move on.”
“Tired… decided to move on…”
“That’s what I said,” I repeat. “Listen, Sis, I got to go.” I’m preparing to shut her down. I look out at the totally empty road—except for me and my Jeep—and shrug. “Traffic is really starting to pick up. I need to concentrate on the road.”
“Faith… Sis, Titan was just here and… He’s looking for you.”
I capture the corner of my lip between my teeth and worry it back and forth while I think about that. I kind of knew Titan would be looking for me… I did. It didn’t occur to me he’d go to my sister and Aden—mostly because it is their honeymoon. I thought maybe he’d ask White. I frown because I’m not happy with him. It feels like he’s telling on me to my sister—which kind of pisses me off.
“Titan? That’s interesting,” I answer, trying to come off like I don’t have a care in the world—which is really what my sisters expect. I’m the blond airhead of the family, bouncing from place to place with no direction or ambition. I play my part well… too well. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“No… but Faith, he seemed angry.”
“That’s strange and I have no idea why. You have my number. You can give it to him. Listen, Sis, I really have to go. Traffic is crazy. Enjoy your honeymoon! Talk to you soon.”
I hang up before she can answer me. Then, to be safe, I switch the phone on silent and toss it in the back seat.
Titan is a complication that I can’t wrap my head around right now. I’m running. My sisters think I�
�ve spent my whole life running, floating around like a butterfly. I let them think that. The truth is much more depressing.
I keep moving because I just don’t belong anywhere.
Titan is a complication I don’t need. A wild, careless night of sex should be kept in the bucket list. I checked it off and it’s done. I look down at the ring on my finger and get more than a little nauseous.
Okay, a night of sex probably shouldn’t be preceded with a marriage ceremony. That was a mistake. I should never drink tequila when I’m upset. I never wanted marriage. My parents were a shining example of why the words “I do” should never be uttered.
And why I planned never to utter them…
Especially after my last relationship.
I pull up to a stop sign. I’m on a back road in the middle of nowhere. I have my suitcase in the back—with my phone—and I do not have a plan. I just know I need a fresh start.
Do I go left or right? I pull out a penny from my ashtray, which has been converted into a change holder. Then I flip it up in the air. I don’t bother catching it, I suck at that. Heads will be right; tails will be left. The penny lands on the dash, rolling and sliding, but spins to a stop.
Taking It Slow: Doing Bad Things Book 3 Page 1
