Falling out of Hate with You: Hate - Love Duet Book One

by Rowe, Lauren

  Without hesitation, Savage drags me to the bed, lays me down on my back, yanks down my underwear like they’re gravely insulting to him, and dives right in with a loud and shuddering exhale of excitement. As he licks me, he groans and moans, and then pushes open my thighs as wide as they’ll go. He licks and laps at me, at first, with a wide and greedy tongue. But, in short order, he zeroes in on his meticulous work, devouring my clit with precision.

  I clutch the bed covering and writhe as Savage decimates me in the most delicious way imaginable. And when he adds his fingers to the mix, it only takes a couple swipes at my G-spot before my body explodes with an orgasm that sends me groaning loudly with deep relief and pleasure.

  I sit up, eager to return the favor, but Savage stops me. His breathing ragged, he pulls off my shirt, and then his briefs, letting his big, thick cock spring to freedom. And just when I’m about to ask him if he’s got a condom, he flips me over, rather forcefully, pulls me onto all fours, and starts eating me from behind.

  “Condom,” I choke out.

  “Don’t need it,” he murmurs. “I’m only gonna eat you.”

  I’m shocked to hear it. But not disappointed. I relax into it, now that I know he’s not planning to plow into me, uncovered. And quickly, my body ramps up, again. Savage is voracious back there. Fucking me with his fingers while licking and eating and biting and sucking every inch of me with his mouth. And by that, I mean, really and truly, every damned inch of me.

  It takes me a little while to get there again, simply because it seems like he keeps pulling back, right when I’m about to release. Over and over again, he gets me right to the edge of orgasm, and pulls back. Is he doing that intentionally? Teasing me? Torturing me? Finally, thank God, he brings me right to the edge, yet again, but this time, exuberantly pushes my pleasure overboard. And when I finally come, something unexpected happens to me. Something that’s never happened before. Fluid squirts out of me during my orgasm. As intense pleasure grips me, I scream, unable to contain the rapture I’m feeling and way too drunk to care if someone in this big house might overhear me.

  When my body-quaking, squirting orgasm subsides, Savage turns me over onto my back again, looking positively feral. Breathing hard, he lies next me on his back and pulls at my arm.

  “Sit on my face,” he commands breathlessly.

  “Savage,” I gasp out. “Get a condom. I want you to fuck me.”

  “Sit on my face, Laila. Now.”

  Trembling, I do as I’m told, and when I lower myself onto his mouth, the pleasure feels supernatural. I lean forward as I ride his face, stroking his gorgeous, hard cock with my hand, and he moans his appreciation underneath me in reply. I look down and see his chin as it moves. My eyes drift to his chest and abs, and then to the tip of his cock peeking out of my hand. It’s dripping with arousal now. So, I lean forward, slowly, allowing his mouth to keep up. And then, as he continues eating me from behind, I take his hard, dripping cock into my mouth and get to work, causing him to jolt and jerk and groan with pleasure.

  We’re absolutely going for it. Both of us. Losing our minds. Not holding back. And when I finally have an orgasm against Savage’s mouth, he growls and has one, too—gushing his release into my mouth in a shockingly warm and salty torrent that fills my mouth to the brim.

  My brain understands it’s time to swallow him down, of course. But, as it turns out, commanding my throat to swallow while having an orgasm isn’t in the cards. At least, not when the volume of Savage’s release is this big.

  As my eyes roll back into my head and my body warps with violent waves of pleasure, Savage’s cum dribbles out my mouth and down my chin, and then, partially, onto his stomach. When I’m finally released from my rapture, I lower myself down and lick up my mess from his stomach, like a kitten licking up spilled milk off the floor. And when I’m done, and all traces of Savage’s orgasm are gone, I continue licking and sucking on every inch of him, simply because he tastes so damned good.

  Midway through kissing his abs, I freeze, suddenly feeling a dramatic shift in my body’s equilibrium. When the room tilts sharply, I get up and stand at the edge of the bed, trying to right the ship. But it’s no use. I think I’m gonna be sick.

  “Come here, Fitzy,” he coos. “I’m not even close to done with your pussy yet.”

  Murmuring something incoherent, I turn and bolt to the bathroom, drop to my knees before the toilet, and lose the entire contents of my stomach into the bowl: however many tequila shots and beers, a lovely meal of chicken, rice, and grilled vegetables . . . and a shocking deluge of salty cum I sucked out of the famous donkey dick attached to the sexiest man alive, Mr. Adrian Fucking Savage.

  Thirty-One

  Savage

  “Oh, honey,” Aloha says as Laila shuffles into Reed’s expansive kitchen in the late morning light, looking like dogshit that’s been stepped in twice. And it’s not hard to surmise what’s elicited the reaction. Laila’s sandy hair is a mess on top of her head. Her normally glowing skin is pale and lifeless. She’s got dark circles under her eyes and her sultry lips, usually dewy and sumptuous, are dry and pinched with her misery.

  Yet, still, even like this, the woman does crazy things to my body. Involuntary things. Indeed, at the mere sight of Laila’s raggedy ass shuffling into the kitchen, my entire body instantly perks up. My heart rate elevates. My skin tingles. Even the memory of Laila barfing at the end of our tryst doesn’t dampen my body’s attraction to her. Apparently, I’m an addict now. Addicted to a drug called Laila. And there’s no turning back.

  Weirdly, I didn’t really mind the barfing part. Not that I have some kind of weird barfing kink. Obviously, I would have preferred that part didn’t happen and thought it was totally gross. But I can’t deny when it happened, and I held back her hair, so it wouldn’t dip into the toilet bowl, when she whimpered pathetically in gratitude at my gentle touch, my heart kind of skipped a beat. I already knew I was attracted to Sassy Laila. To Bitchy Laila. And, of course, to Sexy, Squirting, Screaming From Ecstasy Laila. But in that moment, I discovered I kinda dig Broken, Pathetic, Needs Me to Hold Her Hair While She Barfs and Act Like Her Knight in Shining Armor Laila, too. I mean, not too often, please. But now and again, sure. It turns out, I’m down to volunteer as tribute for that job, occasionally.

  When Laila was done being sick, I helped her wash up, led her to the bed, tucked her in, and held her close while she whimpered and groaned. When she swore she was going to die, I stroked her hair and kissed her cheek and assured her she wouldn’t. And, to my surprise, in between telling me to fuck off and to stop correcting her, she actually snuggled me, thanked me for taking care of her, and whispered my name like it was a little prayer. And the best part? She didn’t steal my wallet or take a single surreptitious photo of me and post it on Twitter.

  But that was then, and this is now. When I woke up this morning, Laila wasn’t there. And when I went to her room and peeked inside, there she was. Fast asleep. Looking like road kill. And, instantly, I knew why she’d left my bedroom and staggered back to hers. Because a drunken tryst in the middle of the night with an asshole like me is one thing, according to Laila’s Rulebook. But waking up in the morning, and seeing me lying next to her in the light of day, is something else entirely. Right then, I knew we might as well have been back on tour. That she’d drunkenly fucked me in the middle of the night, the same way she’d done on the night of the hot tub. And that now, she was going to pretend it had never happened, the same way she did back then.

  Laila croaks out a pathetic “good morning” to the small group at Reed’s kitchen table as she enters the room. Along with Aloha and me, the “second wave” of people eating breakfast this morning is comprised of Aloha’s husband, Zander, Fish and Alessandra, and Reed’s fiancée, Georgina. And of course, as the group eats, Amalia is puttering away adorably on the other side of the kitchen.

  Moving like molasses, Laila grabs some coffee and a muffin from a breakfast spread on the counter and then
takes a seat next to me at the table.

  “You look pretty,” I say sarcastically. “Like a Picasso.”

  “Shut up,” she murmurs before laying her forehead onto the table.

  “And they were stupid enough to hire you to be my babysitter?” I say to her lowered head. “Pfft. I want a discount.”

  Laila flips me off without lifting her head.

  “Thank God there’s a professional hair and makeup person here today, eh?” I say. “Hopefully, she’s a good one. She’s got her work cut out for her with you.”

  “Please, shut up,” she murmurs into the table. “I’m trying to die over here. Which is okay, I’ve decided. I’ve had a good run. Tell my mother and sister I love them.”

  Aloha addresses her husband. “Babe, will you make Laila one of your hangover miracle smoothies?”

  “You bet.”

  Georgina offers to assist Zander, saying she was a bartender in college, and he cheerily accepts her help.

  As Zander and Georgina begin whipping up the concoction, Aloha’s phone rings, and she heads off to take her call, which prompts Fish and Alessandra to head out of the kitchen, too, hand in hand. And, suddenly, Laila and I are sitting alone at the table, side by side.

  “I’m gonna die,” she murmurs.

  I rub her back. “You’re not gonna die.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  I laugh.

  “Have you taken some Ibuprofen, Laila?” Amalia asks from across the kitchen.

  “No, ma’am. I couldn’t find any.”

  “Poor baby. I’ll get you some.”

  “Thank you, Amalia,” Laila croaks out.

  “You’re the best, Abu Dabu,” I call to Amalia as she leaves, prompting Laila to turn her head, placing her cheek flush onto the table with her eyebrows furrowed, and say, “Abu Dabu?”

  I smile. “Abu is a cute name for grandma. Abu Dabu is my spin on it, because Amalia’s like a fortune teller with a crystal ball. Crazy smart, that one.”

  Laila pulls an adorable face that practically screams, What the fuck?

  I shrug. “Amalia and I bonded last night. The woman just gets me.”

  Laila chuckles and then groans with pain. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  “Aw, you feel like a shit stain, huh—not even good enough to feel like the actual shit?”

  She grimaces. “Exactly.”

  I brush my fingertips against her high cheekbone. And then, against her lower lip, reliving our first kiss last night in my mind. Damn, that was an amazing kiss. The best of my life. I didn’t even know a kiss could be that exciting. I’d put a lot of stock into finally kissing those mesmerizing lips of Laila’s, and yet our kiss exceeded my most enthralling fantasy.

  She whimpers. “Last night was supposed to be a last hurrah. Not suicide.”

  It serves you right for ditching my ass last night and trying to make me jealous, I think. But what I say is, “Poor baby,” while rubbing her back.

  “That feels nice. Thank you.”

  “Even shit stains deserve a little mercy.”

  She sticks out her lower lip. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  Zander appears and places a hideous green smoothie on the table in front of Laila, as Georgina takes the seat on the other side of her.

  “Oh my God,” Laila says, beholding the monstrous-looking concoction in front of her.

  Zander says, “Drink the whole thing down within five minutes, and I promise you’ll be magically back to normal within an hour.”

  Laila makes a face I’d expect to see on a person who’s been dropped into a snake pit. She says, “Is this a prank?”

  Zander chuckles. “I know it looks heinous, but, trust me, it works like a charm.”

  Georgina encourages Laila to drink it, so Laila finally picks up the glass, takes a tiny sip, and then winces comically, making everyone laugh.

  Amalia returns with pills for Laila, and then heads out to work in another part of the house.

  Zander leaves after a bit to find his wife, which prompts Georgina to say she’s going to find Reed. And, suddenly, I’m alone at the table with Laila and her nasty-looking smoothie.

  “What’s in that thing?” I ask, as Laila takes another recalcitrant gulp.

  “I have no idea,” she replies, wiping her mouth. “Whatever it is, it tastes like ass.”

  “Well, if it tastes like your delicious ass, then sign me up.”

  She flashes me a snarky look. “I knew you’d bring that up, the first chance you got.”

  “You want me to pretend last night never happened, like on tour?”

  “I do, actually. Thanks.”

  “I’m not doing that again, Laila. Especially not when we’re going to be living together for the next three months. Last night happened, baby. Deal with it. Especially since it’s going to happen again and again and again, every night for the next three months.”

  “Don’t confuse my desire for a drunken booty call with my desire to jump into some kind of three-month-long arrangement with you.”

  “Why wouldn’t we jump into an arrangement while living together? It’s not like we can mess around with anyone else while we’re pretending to be in love. So, let’s have some fun.”

  She sniffs. “You smoke when you drink, and I fuck Adrian Savage when I drink.”

  I roll my eyes. “So, are you planning to be celibate for the next three months? Because I’m sure as hell not.” I lean forward. “Especially when I already know how good you taste.”

  “Has it escaped your notice that both times we’ve fooled around, we’ve both been shitfaced drunk?”

  “That’s not why we fooled around, and you know it.”

  “I don’t know that. When I’m sober, I’m not stupid enough to find you irresistible.”

  “Booze doesn’t make you stupid, Laila. It makes you honest. And booze certainly isn’t what makes me irresistible to you.”

  She snorts.

  “Why would you even want to resist me, when I’m so damned delicious?”

  “Candy is delicious, too, Savage. But too much candy isn’t good for me.”

  “But you don’t expect candy to be good for you, so there’s no false advertising. You eat candy for instant gratification. Because it’s delicious and fun.” I smile. “Come, Laila. Let’s have some delicious fun together.”

  She twists her mouth like she’s genuinely considering it. But rather than speak, she brings her hideous smoothie to her lips.

  I’m a shark smelling blood. A bloodhound on the scent. She’s losing her resolve. I can feel it. “Come on,” I coo. “When you know, going in, you’re bingeing on candy, then nobody can get hurt.” She purses her lips, but doesn’t say no, so I forge ahead. “Whatever made you want to hunt me down for a booty call last night is still there now, even without a drop of alcohol in your system.”

  “I didn’t hunt you down for a booty call last night. You hunted me down for a booty call.”

  “Oh, really? What were you doing creeping around in the hallway in the middle of the night in your underwear, if not hunting me down for a booty call?”

  She bats her eyelashes. “I got hungry and wanted a snack.”

  I snort. “Laila, I saw you pressing your ear against a door. Obviously, you were trying to figure out which room was mine.”

  “Maybe. But not for a booty call. I wanted to chew you out for leaving the party without saying goodnight to me.”

  “In your underwear?”

  “I didn’t think about what I was wearing. I was too drunk and annoyed. You’re the one who said we should always stay in character, whenever we’re not alone. And then, you left the party without so much as a wave goodbye to me? Ha! Would a real boyfriend leave a party without saying goodnight to his girlfriend who supposedly rocks his world? No way!”

  I can’t help smiling. I should have known Kendrick would never steer me wrong. The guy is a king. I say, “I left without saying goodnight because I di
dn’t want to bother you while you were obviously having so much fun with your friends. Plus, the only people left at the party at that point were good friends who were associated with the show, so I knew you were in good hands.”

  “You’re such a hypocrite! That’s exactly what I said about Colin!”

  I bite back a smile. Pushing her buttons is so damned fun. “Let’s not rehash the Colin thing, okay? The bottom line is you flirted with him last night to make me jealous, because you’re evil, and it worked because I’m stupid and predictable. Can we agree we’re both idiot-assholes and move on, please?”

  She looks extremely pleased with that response. “Yes. As long as we agree you’re more of an idiot-asshole than me, then I’m prepared to move on.”

  “No. We’re tied.”

  She pauses for a beat before exhaling and saying, “Fine.”

  “Thank you. Now, admit you were creeping around the hallway in your underwear last night because you were looking for a booty call.”

  “What about you? What were you doing in the hallway in your underwear?”

  I grin wickedly. “Like you said, I was hungry and looking for a snack.” I lean forward. “And, lucky for me, the snack I found was even tastier than I’d fantasized it’d be. So damned tasty, I can’t wait to eat it again and again, starting tonight.”

  She bites her lip but says nothing. And I know she’s on the bitter cusp of agreeing to fuck my brains out every night for the next three months.

  “Aw, come on, Laila,” I coo in my most seductive voice. “Why fight it? Let’s have some fun.”

  She exhales. “I don’t want it to get confusing.”

  I furrow my brow. “In what way?”

  She shrugs. “Won’t it be weird if we’re working together, living together, pretending to be head over heels for each other . . . and having sex every night? Doesn’t that seem like a recipe for disaster?”

  “For who? Are you saying you’re worried you’re going to catch feelings, Fitzy?”

  “Of course not. I’m saying I’m worried you’re going to catch feelings.”