His Firecracker: Sassy Girls Series

by Reynolds, Rory

  I let out a frustrated growl when Drake moves my hand away from his dick. “I want—” I start to say, but he’s twirling me around lightly pinning my hands to the wall with his before I can get the words out.

  My back arches when his jean-clad cock grinds against my ass. Oh, God. I want this so bad. He grabs my hair in his strong fist and pulls my head back and to the side so he can kiss and nibble at my neck. All the while, his dick mimics the motions of fucking me from behind.

  “More, Drake. Please…” I beg, then cry out in desperation when his body completely disappears from mine. I move to turn, and his deep voice rumbles through me with command. “Don’t move. Keep your hands on the wall, firecracker.”

  I do as I’m told because to argue would be pointless. Drake likes to get his way in the bedroom—and against the wall, it seems. He lifts my skirt, exposing my lace covered bottom to the chilly room. He runs one finger across the gusset of my panties, and I know exactly what he’s seeing and feeling: I’m positively drenched.

  “So wet for me.”

  “Yes!” I nearly scream as his finger presses against my clit. Even through my panties I’m so sensitive it almost hurts.

  He pulls his fingers away and tsks when I push my bottom towards him, trying to keep the delicious contact. “Greedy little thing.”

  “If someone wasn’t determined to tease me half to death…”

  His dark chuckle sends a thrill through me. I love that he takes charge during sexy times. He works my body like a fine instrument, and he’s a master. Finally, he pulls my panties to the side, and his hot, wet tongue finds my pussy. My legs nearly buckle at the sensation, and it’s only his strong grip on my hips that keeps me upright.

  “Drake!” I cry out when his lips suction to my clit. He no longer seems content to draw this out. Instead he’s working my pussy over with single-mindedness. His only goal to make me come and come hard. He’s going to get his wish because I’m hurtling to the edge of the cliff at an alarming rate.

  “Too much…” I find myself crying out over and over. “Oh, God… ohGodohGodohGod,” I chant as my orgasm rockets through me, splitting me into a million tiny pieces of shattered woman. The climax feels never-ending as he licks and sucks at my swollen clit. Once he’s wrung every ounce of pleasure from my body and I’m collapsed and twitching against the wall, he rights my panties and presses a kiss to my bottom.

  I’m in a pleasure-coma as he lifts me into his arms and carries me to bed. I’m pretty sure I fall asleep before my head even hits the pillow. I vaguely remember him kissing me and telling me he’d call me in the morning. My last thought before sleep consumes me is that once again, he avoided sex.

  14

  Drake

  The little minx is trying to kill me. Or maybe it’s a slow form of suicide by sexual frustration…

  Joselynn hasn’t been shy about how badly she wants me, and yet, I keep denying us both. At first, it was easy to talk myself into believing it was so that I wasn’t rushing her. She’s been hurt before—badly—and I know she’s been alone for a long time. This thing between us isn’t casual for me, and I don’t want to give her the wrong impression. I want to prove to her that I’m around to stay. I’m fairly sure I’ve done that, and yet I still tucked her into her bed—alone—and left with an erection tenting my pants and a severe case of blue balls.

  Again.

  The worst part of this self-denial is that I’m denying her in the process. She doesn’t seem to appreciate my chivalrous side. My cock doesn’t like it either. Every night after I leave her, I rush home to the privacy of a cold shower and jack off until my cock feels raw, if not satisfied.

  Which is where I’m at currently. In the shower, my aching cock in hand, stroking myself with the taste of Joselynn’s sweet release still on my tongue.

  It was a weak moment that had me pressing her hands to the wall and burying my face in her pussy. My cock positively throbs at the memory of how wet she got for me. Even before I touched her, she was drenched.

  I keep a firm grip on my cock, stroking it roughly, almost as if I’m punishing it for my lack of control earlier. It doesn’t take long for my balls to draw up and my spine to tingle as my impending release closes in.

  When I come, it’s with her name on my lips. I stroke myself through a never-ending orgasm as thick spurt after spurt of my release hits the shower floor to be washed down the drain. I have a moment of regret for the waste. If I’d have given in to Joselynn’s needy cries for me to fuck her, I’d have spent deep inside her tight pussy. I could’ve claimed her in earnest. Filled her up with my release until she’s pregnant with my babies—twins, my caveman mind decides.

  It’s a ridiculous notion. Knocking Joselynn up so soon after meeting is insanity, but now that the thought is there, I can’t seem to unthink it. It worked out well for Hutch and Blake. If Joselynn were pregnant with my child, she couldn’t push me away ever again. She’d be tied to me forever.

  I shake my head. No. Now is not the time for those kinds of thoughts. We have to deal with Frankie Rosetti first. When Joselynn feels safe again, I will let that caveman side have his way. After a discussion with her, the sane part of my brain says rationally.

  After a quick wash, I’m standing in front of the bathroom mirror. I rub a hand over my jaw. I need to shave, but that means I have to face myself, and that’s something I avoid as often as possible. It isn’t until after I’ve got the shaving cream spread on my face that I look up into the mirror, my focus entirely on the job at hand.

  When I finish, I force myself to look at my reflection. All of my scars are on vivid display. My jaw clenches as I take in the ruined side of my body. It’s almost a cruelty to have one perfect side and one scarred. The smooth, tanned skin covering defined muscles is a glimpse of what I’ve lost.

  I imagine the look on Joselynn’s face when she sees the damage. Will she shrink away? Will there be a look of pity in her eyes? It’s only now that I decide to be honest with myself. This is why I’ve held back. Why every time she tries to touch me, I distract her or deny her.

  …But what if she looks at these scars like she looks at the ones on my face? Like they are nothing more than a part of me. Something else for her to love.

  What if she is disgusted? That ugly part of my mind that sees the monster I’ve been accused of being since my injuries tries to take over. It would be so easy to give in to those thoughts. It’s one of the things that’s kept me celibate. People, women especially, react poorly to the scars on my face, and I can’t handle the thought of Joselynn turning away from me.

  Joselynn isn’t like that though. She’s never once looked at my scars with disgust or pity. I need to trust in her the same way I’m asking her to trust in me. I was less afraid going into that final fire-fight than I am at the idea of losing Joselynn. I brush that idea away. She’s not the type. I just have to keep telling myself that and get over my insecurities.

  Therapy worked wonders on my emotional trauma from losing my brother’s in arms, but not so much in dealing with the loss of my looks. I never considered myself vain, but looking at myself as I am now?

  Maybe I am.

  * * *

  I’ve been extra busy this week while Joselynn has been working. I decided to put my plan to move out of Drake and Hutch’s house in motion and hired a realtor. I’ve seen no less than fifteen houses, and nothing is the right fit. The realtor keeps showing me homes that would be great for a single man, but I’m not buying a house with the intention of living in it alone.

  I fully intend on it being the house Joselynn and I share with one stray dog named Hank. I just have to convince Joselynn that things aren’t moving crazy fast between us…

  “I think this one will be more to your liking, Mr. Foster,” the realtor says in her nasally voice. She waves her hand behind her to the house.

  I get my first look at it, and I’m sure this one is the one. The house I’ll make a home with my firecracker. It’s two stories with a wraparo
und porch complete with a swing. It’s a light gray with black shutters. A mix of modern and classic old southern design. If the inside is half as perfect as the outside, I’ll be walking away with the keys to it today.

  Within two minutes of entering the front door, I’m declaring I’ll take it. The realtor is looking mighty relieved.

  “You haven’t even seen the back yard or the spare rooms…”

  She’s right. I stopped in the master suite. A massive room with vaulted ceilings and enough space for not only a king-sized bed, but there is a perfect place for a reading nook for Joselynn. The bathroom is full-on luxury with a separate shower and bathtub big enough for an orgy. I know without a doubt, my girl will love this room, this house…

  “I want it. How soon can we close?” I say decisively.

  “Once you have your loan secured—”

  “I’ll be paying cash.”

  I almost can’t hold back my laughter because the poor woman looks like she might swallow her tongue. She didn’t expect someone like me to be able to pay cash. Surprise! After a few really lucrative investments, I’m a very wealthy man. In all fairness, you couldn’t tell by looking at my torn jeans and worn boots that I’ve got several million dollars sitting in the bank.

  I’m still just a retired soldier who works private security. The money is nice to have, but other than my truck, I haven’t spent much of it. I set up trust funds for my sister’s kids. Otherwise, it’s just sitting there collecting interest. I’m not the type to live lavishly. This house is big, but not millionaire big. I don’t want a mansion; I want a home. Someplace to go after a long day of work and feel that sense of rightness—of home. The only thing needed to make that happen with this house is Joselynn.

  “With a cash payment, we could move things along fairly quickly. Maybe two weeks?” the realtor says as she looks over her calendar.

  “I want the keys today.”

  The realtor sputters, “Mr. Foster, that’s highly irregular.”

  I shrug. “Tell the sellers I will add ten thousand dollars to the asking price for the inconvenience of a quick sale.”

  Money is magic because less than an hour later, the seller is shaking my hand while handing over the keys to my new house. They were more than happy to take the bonus in lieu of a standard sale. It didn’t hurt that with a single phone call to my accountant, the funds were transferred. Pretty sure the old owners will be skipping all the way to the bank.

  Now we just need to catch Rosetti, and I can bring my girl home.

  15

  Joselynn

  “I’m pretty sure I’m going to die of sexual frustration,” I complain as I throw myself in the booth across from Lindsay.

  I don’t miss the snickering from Chad, my current shadow courtesy of Invictus Security. Lindsay laughs when I shoot him a dirty look. He’s been my guard all week. Apparently, my regular guard, Sonja, had a top-secret job—the kind where you die if you know what she’s up to—somewhere overseas. I was told not to ask questions. I’m pretty fond of breathing, so I’m not asking questions.

  I miss Sonja’s silence. Chad is a nuisance. Chatty and a bit of a jokester. Both Hutch and Drake tell me he’s damn good at his job… just lacks when it comes to boundaries and social niceties.

  “Drake is still holding out?” Lindsay doesn’t try to hold in her mirth.

  Ugh. Why did I call Lindsay for this lunch?

  “Yes! It’s been weeks!” I whine. “Weeks of kissing and touching and everything but what I know we both want! If Drake weren’t so enthusiastic with…” I trail off not really wanting to say what I want to say...

  “Cunnilingus. It’s called cunnilingus,” Lindsay says it as if she’s talking to a toddler.

  “Yes, that. If Drake weren’t so enthusiastic with that and other stuff, I’d think he just doesn’t want me. But holy crap, I’m about to die of foreplay. Can you die of foreplay?”

  “Poor baby is getting her pussy licked to death…” Lindsay snickers.

  I throw my straw wrapper at her. “Shut up. When’s the last time you were given weeks of foreplay and zero action?”

  She snorts. “Never. I’d have tied him down and rode him like a cowgirl long before now.”

  The thought has merit. But then I remember the look on Drake’s face and how tense he gets any time I attempt to reciprocate, and I know I could never do that. He’s scarred and not just on the outside. We haven’t discussed it, but I know he’s holding back from me because he’s concerned with how I’ll react to his scars. I just have to find a way to make him trust that there is no part of him that I don’t find attractive. His scars don’t mean anything to me. I ache for him because I know they bother him, but other than that, they are just a part of him. Part of what makes him the man I’ve fallen in love with.

  Crap. I’m in love with Drake.

  “What was that look?” Lindsay asks.

  “What look?”

  She quirks an eyebrow at me in her ‘you will tell me or else’ way.

  “Nothing!”

  “You are a horrible liar. Just tell me now and make it painless. You know I’m going to get it out of you one way or another.”

  She’s not wrong. I’ve kept parts of my past secret from her, but she knows me better than anyone—other than Drake—has ever known me.

  I look over my shoulder checking to see if Chad is paying attention to us or not. He’s still sitting a couple booths away, but he’s flirting with the waitress. Good. He’s distracted. I wouldn’t want him to overhear this and report it to Drake. I’m not ready for him to know… yet.

  “I think I’m in love with Drake.”

  Lindsay rolls her eyes. “Duh. Of course, you are. Are you just now figuring this out?”

  “No… I guess I’ve known.”

  “Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”

  “Har har. So funny. Denial is all that keeps me sane sometimes.”

  She just shakes her head at that. “You don’t live in denial. Of all the people I know you are the most rooted in reality of any of them. It’s almost disgusting how very… adult you are.”

  It’s true. I had to grow up fast in foster care. Then everything that happened with Frankie, and after I’ve had to stay firmly rooted in reality. Denial and delusions of grandeur are not something I have the luxury of falling prey to.

  The waitress brings over our food, and I groan at the delicious scent of my double bacon cheeseburger.

  “Hope you don’t mind, I ordered for us,” Lindsay says with a shrug. “I was starving and didn’t want to wait.”

  I’m already digging into my burger. “Ish good,” I mumble around a mouthful of burger, not even caring about my usual manners. Apparently, I was hungrier than I thought because I devour the entire burger and my fries.

  “Geez, girl, you sure you don’t want to lick the plate?” Lindsay teases.

  I let out a miserable little groan at that. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m stuffed.” My phone beeps a reminder that I have ten minutes to get back to the hospital. “And now I’m going to go suffer from my food baby while taking care of babies.”

  “I’ll give you a ride.”

  I flick a look at Chad. “Got that covered. I’m being babysat, remember?”

  Lindsay looks him up and down in a predatory way. “How could I forget… shame on me.”

  I toss some bills down on the table and give Lindsay a hug before Chad escorts me back to his black SUV. It’s very official-looking. He laughed when I told him as much and said it gets the job done and the dark tint on the windows keeps his client’s identities under wraps. I told him he must be bored to tears watching over a nurse instead of his usual clientele of movie stars and musicians. He just chuckled and said he was having plenty of fun. I’m assuming it’s because he loves teasing Drake and me.

  * * *

  I get stopped at least five times on my way to the lockers. Apparently, we had two babies born in the hour I’ve been gone, and one of them is bei
ng given up for adoption. It’s not often that we see a baby come through that doesn’t already have a family picked out by the birth mother. This mom wants nothing to do with the process and refused to even look at her baby.

  My heart breaks for the unwanted baby. She’ll go into the system, and I can only hope she’ll be quickly adopted and not lost in the shuffle. Instead of heading straight to the lockers, I abandon my purse on the desk in the nursery and go right to the baby girl. I’ve got her scooped up in my arms and held close to my heart in an instant.

  “Sad, isn’t it?” Sara says.

  My throat is tight as I look down at the little bundle in my arms. She’s got a head full of white-blonde curls and bright blue eyes, not the dull gray-blue that most babies start off with. Her little fingers wrap around one of mine and grip tight as she looks at me with trusting eyes. There’s a heaviness to the look that I’m sure is just in my own head, but if I didn’t know better, I would say she knows what’s happening to her.

  Heart. Broken.

  “Have you ever considered being a foster parent?” Sara asks out of the blue.

  I tear my gaze off the baby and give her an incredulous look because no. I haven’t considered it. My life is a mess. How could I ever bring a baby into it? Especially now, when Frankie is back. I look back down at the little angel in my arms and feel a longing worse than any I’ve ever felt.

  “I’m not sure I’d be a good fit…” I finally answer.

  “Not a good fit? Are you crazy? You love these babies like they are your own! Every single one of them. I don’t know how you survive them going home. I mean, it makes me sad sometimes too, but I don’t get nearly as attached as you do.”