Текст книги "Sexy"

Автор книги: J. A. Huss

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

There is always a moment when you realize things have changed. You see a girl from across the room and something grabs you. Her legs, maybe. Or her hair. Or the look in her eyes. You can’t explain it, that feeling is just there. You watch her walk, you listen to her talk, and it’s never enough. You just want to stare at her. Take her all in. Memorize her. It doesn’t make sense, but that feeling is there.

I get this feeling now. Tiffy standing here in front of me. Naked. Exposed. Wanting me.

And I have two choices. Yes or no.

It feels like everything hinges on this moment. Like life will flip upside down either way.

Say no and it will hurt her. I know that. If I tell her no, she’s never coming back. She’s never going to make this offer again. She’s never going to let down her guard for another man, period.

Whatever little piece inside her that’s damaged can be cured with one nod of my head. But shake it the other way and that damaged piece grows a scar. A scar that might never go away.

And maybe I’m full of myself. Maybe I’m delusional to think that I have this kind of power. But I saw the look on those girls’ faces the other day when they came to confront me for the scars I gave them.

I can’t do that to Tiffy. I can’t. I know it’s wrong. She wants someone who can take care of her and I’m not capable of doing that. So if I was an honest guy I’d give her that scar and hope for the best. Because saying yes to this tonight means I will just crush her later. When she finds out who I am, what I’m doing, and how many lies I’ve told. All for money.

If I was a good guy, this wouldn’t even be an issue. I’d put her clothes back on and tell her we can meet up tomorrow to get the guy she really wants. Cole. Cole, the man who can provide for her. Cole, the man she’s been fantasizing about for years.

But he’s not what she thinks he is either.

So even though I’m breaking all my rules, even though I’m going against all my instincts, and even though I’m gonna regret this in the morning, I say…

“Sit on my lap.”

She spreads her legs to straddle mine and eases herself down onto my legs. I can feel the heat of her desire through my shorts and when I look down at her pussy, her lips are spread open, just slightly, giving me a peek at her clit.

I look up at her face. Her long brown hair is draped down her shoulders, the tips reaching for her perky nipples.

I reach behind her, cup her ass, and hike her closer to me so that her opening is pressing against the hard bulge in my pants.

“Touch me,” I whisper.

“Where?” she asks back in a scared, quiet voice.

“Anywhere you want.”

She reaches for my face and strokes her fingertip up and down my cheek. It’s tender and sweet. And it takes me back for a second. I expected her to touch the hard muscles of my chest. Or the hills and valleys of my abs. Or grab hold of my shoulders like she never wants to let go.

Not the face.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, letting the word out with a long, slow breath of air. I laugh, but the pad of her thumb touches my lips to make it stop. “No, really. People look at you, Fletcher, and they ask themselves, ‘Why don’t I look like that?’”

“No one wants to be me, Tiffy. I promise you.”

“You’re wrong,” she says. “Everyone wants to be you. You have everything at your fingertips. You’re smart, and gorgeous, and happy, and outgoing, and confident, and sexy.”

I feel even worse for taking advantage of her right now. Because I’m so far from all those things, she has no idea. “Sexy is on the inside, Tiffy. The inside is the only thing that matters.”

“You can say that because you’re one of them. One of those beautiful people who don’t realize how lucky they are.”

I huff out some air. “I could say the same thing about you, ya know. You’re all those words you just used to describe me. Only you’re the real deal.”

Her lips tugs down to make a frown and she shakes her head. “Fuck me. I just want to feel you against me tonight. And I promise, I won’t overreact tomorrow when everything goes back to the way it’s supposed to be.”

The way it’s supposed to be. I have a million questions about that statement. But I want her too. I want her mouth on my mouth. I want her legs wrapped around me and her heart beating against mine as I enter her.

So instead of talking, I give her what she’s asking for. I cup her ass and stand up, walking us over to the bed, then bend down and lay her on the rumpled covers, spreading her legs as I ease in between them.

“It’s your turn now. To watch.”

I step back and reach for the waistband of my shorts. Her eyes are fixed on my actions. And when I tug a little, exposing the light trail of blond hair that hides under the fabric, my thick, hard cock is growing as I release the waistband and let the shorts drop to my ankles and kick them aside. I step forward, grab her hair with both hands, and press her face up to me.

Her breath is hot, and then her tongue is pressing against my shaft. She opens her mouth and begins to kiss the fabric of my boxer briefs. Softly.

Everything Tiffy does, she does softly. She is gentle and sweet. And this just makes me want to love her. Not fuck her, like she’s asking. But love her. Even if it’s just for one night.

So I fist her hair and push her back again, until she’s lying all the way back on the bed, and my hands go to my boxer briefs. She swallows down something. Maybe fear. Maybe regret. Maybe something else.

But she’s waiting for more, so that’s what I give her.

I yank my briefs down and step out, kicking them across the smooth wooden floor where the shorts are in a pile. At the same time, I lean down and kiss her stomach. Small, light, fluttering kisses that aren’t part of my normal repertoire. I swirl my tongue around her little belly button. There’s no piercing. No tattoos on this girl. No rebellious pink hair or edge to her voice or mannerisms that scream, I’m a rebel.

Because she’s not a rebel. She’s a nice, sweet girl.

So I’m gonna fuck her the way she deserves.

Her fingertips thread through my hair, urging me lower. But I go up instead of down. I fist both of her firm breasts as my mouth finds her nipples. She moans, and spreads her legs wider underneath me.

We are naked. Skin against skin. Not like the last time when it was hard and fast and we were partially clothed.

I take my kisses up to her neck and she shivers from my soft touch. I kiss her diamond earring and then breathe softly into her ear. “Fuck,” I say.

“Please,” she begs me back.

I scoot up a little more, kneeling on the soft mattress with my knees pressed against her ribs. My fully erect cock is reaching for her. The tip bumps up against her lips and she opens her mouth to let her tongue dart out. She swipes it over my head and then she reaches for my shaft as she opens wider and urges me forward.

I lean down, my hands flat on the bed on either side of her face, and angle my hips until my cock begins to disappear inside her mouth.

She sucks, and oh my God, she feels good. I pump a few times, making her grip tighten around my shaft. She shakes her head a little to let me know I’ve gone too deep, so I ease back just enough to let her take control for a second.

But the pause only lasts a second. Because her tongue is doing a little swirling dance now, and I can’t stop what I want. I want to bury my cock down her throat. I know she’s not capable of this, so I force myself to take it slow.

She responds by trying harder to take me in. She opens her mouth wider and then presses her lips down. The pressure is enough to make my head fall backwards from the pleasure.

And then her face moves forward, taking a little bit more.

Be patient, Fletcher, I warn myself. Be patient. She’s willing to try, so I let her take me any way she wants.

She sucks me like that for a few seconds, and then she reaches down to play with my balls. “Tiffy,” I say. “Fuck.”

Just as the word comes out of my mouth, she opens and thrusts forward one more time. Not swallowing me, but doing her best. And it’s enough. Fuck, yeah, it’s enough.

I pull out and lean down to kiss her mouth. “You make me feel so good,” I whisper into her mouth. “Scoot up a little.”

She braces herself on the bed and does as I ask, finding her way to the middle of my bed. Her legs are still open and the look on her face is one of hunger.

I’ve seen lust before. But I see more than that in Tiffy. I see what I want to see, because I see love.

I let out a long breath, knowing it’s a lie as soon as the thought completes in my mind. She’s confused. I did that to her. But I don’t care. Because I want her. Not just for a night. I want more.

So I grab a condom from my nightstand and tug it on. And then I ease on top of her, my legs alongside hers, my elbow resting on the bed now, so I can use my fingers to play with her hair as I kiss her mouth.

She kisses me back and I take some pleasure in the softness of her response. She’s not looking for the wall sex on the roof. She’s happy with what I’m giving her.

So I leave her mouth and kiss my way down her body and give her what she wanted a few minutes ago. When I get to her stomach, I hike her legs up, pressing on the back of her thighs so her knees are up to her chin.

And then I lick her pussy. She’s neatly trimmed. Perfectly trimmed. My tongue sweeps up and down, flicking against her clit when I get to the top, and then reaching for her little bud of an asshole on the downswing.

And with each lap around her pussy, she writhes. She reaches for my hair and grips it tight, and her little squeaks become more intense. Her hips begin to jerk from side to side, and I know it’s too much. But I’m not stopping. Not until she comes in my mouth. So I clamp down on her forearms and pin them to the bed. I take her clit between my lips and suck. Gently at first, to get her to calm down. And as soon as she does, I flick it wildly. Back and forth.

“Fletcher,” she moans. “Oh, shit, Fletcher!”

I’m too busy to answer because I know she’s close. But I let go of one arm so I can reach down between her legs and insert two fingers inside her. I pump a few times and she lets out a little scream.

“Oh, shit,” she says again. “Oh my God.” When I look up at her face to gauge how much more she can take, she’s biting her lip so hard, it draws blood.

She’s so close.

So I withdraw my fingers and strum her clit, just as my tongue thrusts up inside her pussy and she clamps my head between her legs with a long moan. Her whole body twists and I can taste her come in my mouth. It flows down to the rhythm of her orgasm and all the tension is released in that moment.

When I look up again, her eyes are closed and her head is to the side. She’s panting hard, taking long draws of breath as she basks in the afterglow of her pleasure.

I kiss my way back up her stomach, angling my body and my legs so my tip is poised just outside her entrance. And then I ease into her slick pussy.

This time I moan. She’s so fucking wet. And so fucking tight.

I push harder, making her arch her back. But her eyes are still closed when I check her face to see if I should stop.

I don’t stop. I press down on her breasts with my chest and take her mouth with mine. “Taste it, Tiffy.” She kisses me back without hesitation. Her nails dig into my back, clawing their way up as I pump inside her. Hard. And then harder. “I did that to you,” I say. “I made you taste like that.”

“Mmmm,” she moans, meeting my thrusts with her own. “More,” she mumbles. “I want to feel that again.”

I reach underneath her and roll us over, my cock never leaving her pussy. She’s too tired and too satiated to sit up and ride me, but that’s not what I want, anyway. I want her close. So I wrap my arms around her waist and upper back and hold her down on top of my chest. She hikes her legs up, so she’s practically on her knees, and lets me pound her from below. I grab her hair and pull her head back, not able to stop myself from getting a little rough with her. But she responds like we’ve been doing this for years. Like we are two parts of a whole. Like we’re a matching set.

She knows just what to do.

She looks me in the eyes, arches her back, and then we come together. I slide against the walls of her pussy. She’s gushing now, that’s how wet she is from coming twice. My contractions go on and on, semen spilling into the condom as wave after wave of pleasure fills me up and washes over me. I press my head into her breasts and bite one, just as the feeling begins to subside.

I ease out, rip the condom off and throw it into the trashcan on the side of the bed.

“Come here,” I growl, turning her body so her ass angles into my cock. I wrap my arms around her waist and hold her close as I kiss her cheek. “Fuck, Tiffy. That was amazing.”

“Mmmm,” she mumbles, snuggling into my chest. “The best sex I’ve ever had.”

I fall asleep with her words echoing in my mind.

Me too, is all I keep thinking. No other sex even comes close. I can’t even call this sex. And even though I know I should not be getting attached to this unattainable girl, I get attached. I hold her close. Her breathing deepens and she drifts off to sleep.

It takes me a lot longer to give in to the call. Because I lie there for a long time thinking about how all I want is to keep her for myself.

But I do drift off. Eventually that hope makes it into my dreams.

That’s all it is though.

Because when I wake up to the bright sunshine coming through the hotel windows, she’s gone.

So I do the only thing I can think to do to make it right. I pick up the phone and call a girl.

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

My only saving grace is the fact that Claudio is out screwing around with Steve. Because if he was home, he’d know immediately. And he’d know it was Fletcher. Then he’d whoop and holler and do that stupid little I-told-you-so dance until he convinced me that Cole is a jerk and Fletcher the stripper is the man of my dreams.

But let’s be real. Fletcher is an asshole. No, not last night. But pretty much every other night. He’s an asshole. He uses girls for sex and… whatever. I don’t know his problems. Everyone has them, and I’m sure he’s no different. But he’s got a free room in a luxury resort, a job that maybe requires him to work thirty hours a week, and a paycheck that is far higher than a guy whose main claim to fame is making women scream his name deserves.

Not to mention his side business. If you can call that a business.

I let the water from the rain shower pound down on my shoulders and spit some out.

But fuck if he isn’t hot.

And experienced. Very experienced.

God, just thinking about his tongue on my pussy and the way he fucked me afterward. Holy Jesus. I could get used to that. And the way he was last night has me reconsidering things.

Tiffy.

I know. I cannot fall for a stripper. I still remember my mom struggling when I was little. I’ve seen pictures of my real father. He was an attractive man. Too attractive. Like Fletcher. These guys are never satisfied. They’re always looking for something better. Better girl, better job, better house, better car. All that bullshit.

My mom didn’t have it easy before she married into the Preston family. And neither did I. It sucked to have no father when I was little. It sucked to have to have that empty pit in my stomach every time I thought about the man who didn’t want me.

And even though my new dad was the prince in my mom’s Cinderella story, she told me over and over as I was growing up that princes don’t normally save the day. I should not count on being saved. She pounded it into my head that all choices have consequences. Both the good and the bad.

If you find a good guy—one who provides, one who cares for his family and is faithful, one who works hard and still knows how to relax at the end of the day—well, you don’t let him go. No matter what.

And I can still hear my question after she told me that the first time. It was a couple years after she first started seeing Randall Preston, but she was still working the night shift.

What if I don’t love that guy?

Love is an illusion, she said back. Love is what you make it. She smoothed down my hair and smiled a strained smile, her lips painted a bright red for her job, her hair piled on top of her head in a dramatic updo. Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Tiffany Marie. When she used my real name I knew I had better listen up. And I did. That conversation has stayed with me all these years. Find a good man. A solid man with a good job and a soft heart. A man who won’t hit you, or yell, or walk out on you and your children. And you never let him go.

I thought her long silky dress was something out of a fairy tale back then.

It took years to realize my mother was a hooker and Randall was her client. When Fletcher said Cole might be using one, I feigned ignorance. No one knows what my mom used to do. Not even Claudio.

Everyone has a secret they’re desperate to keep hidden.

Yes, my mother had the Cinderella story. But she never loved Randall. And he never loved her that way either. I have felt, from the first day we moved into his huge mansion in Monterey, that I was the glue that held them together. He never had kids and I was his one chance. He was the perfect father. A fairytale father.

But he cried at her funeral. I took his hand that day. I was only fifteen when she killed herself, but I knew that Randall felt responsible. They didn’t fight. Ever. Not in my presence, anyway. It could’ve happened in private, but I don’t think so. My mother was the perfect wife on the outside. She never raised her voice. She never complained. She was simply grateful and satisfied.

Maybe that’s not how you take life by the horns and make the most of it, but it worked for her. And it gave me opportunities that I would never have had.

Randall loved her in a way a man loves a woman he wants to save. And even if she didn’t love him back, she respected him and he treated her well. Gave her everything she ever wanted.

Then why did she kill herself?

I have asked myself that question since the moment I learned it happened. She was supposed to be at the Four Seasons for a spa day, but they called and said she never showed up. We didn’t start to worry until she didn’t show up for dinner at home. She was always home for dinner. It was a constant thing in my life once Randall took us in. We were a family, he said. And families eat dinner together.

The police found her car off the side of a cliff.

And there was a note. All it said was, I can’t go on.

Why? How could her life be that bad? My therapists said she was depressed and didn’t seek help, so it overpowered her.

But I don’t know about that. I’ve never been convinced. Something was missing from her life and I always felt that even though Randall was perfect, she was infatuated with my real father.

Maybe infatuated isn’t the right word. In fact, maybe it wasn’t love she felt for him at all. Maybe it was the idea that she wasn’t good enough to keep him around.

Fletcher reminds me a lot of that man, the sperm donor who walked out. And Cole reminds me a lot of Randall, the prince who saved us. Maybe it’s unfair, but what reason, beyond great sex, has Fletcher given me to think otherwise?

I turn the shower off and wrap myself in a towel. My body aches from the sex. I can still feel Fletcher’s touch from last night. I can still feel his breath on my neck as he held me close as we slept.

But what does any of it mean? And why would I throw away a good possibility with a man like Cole for those brief moments with Fletcher?

But God, it felt good. And not just the sex. Why can’t the hot guy be the prince? Just once?

Maybe Fletcher is a prince?

It’s a novel idea for me, since I’ve only seen him as a player with all the right moves to win the game.

But then I swipe my hand across the mirror so I can look myself in the face. Tiffy Preston might be rich, and educated, and cultured—but she is still the girl who was left behind. Just like her mother.

It would be a monumental waste of time to explore the idea that Fletcher Novak might be a real possibility. I know nothing about him beyond what I’ve seen here at the hotel. And I have to admit, reluctantly, that none of that looks good for a future with him.

He’s an expert in one-night stands, seduction, and helping girls manipulate their future husbands into loving them.

I reach for my phone and text Cole. I’ll give him one more chance.

Want to meet for dinner?

No answer.

Maybe all men are assholes? Maybe I should just give up on them altogether and just concentrate on my career? Maybe I should hang out with the gays and just have fun? Maybe I should—

Are you working today? he texts back.

No, I’m taking the day off.

Good, he replies a few seconds later. Your father thinks you’re working too hard, so I told him I’d arrange a spa day for you. They’re expecting you at ten this morning, so don’t be late. And dinner will be fun. What time?

I laugh as I start texting. Yes! He’s thinking of me. How about six o’clock?

Sounds good, Tiffy. I’ve got meetings all day, so I’ll just pick you up in your room.

OK, bye!

I lie back on the bed and smile with relief. He’s not avoiding me after all. He’s just busy. And arranging a spa day for me is sweet. I really needed this ego boost.

My phone rings and jolts me out of my little daydream world. I look at the screen and moan. Fletcher. He’s gonna want to know why I left without saying goodbye.

“Hello?” I say into the speaker.

“Hey,” he says, a little hesitation in his voice. “You left me cold this morning.”

“Oh, Cole planned a spa day for me, so I needed to get back to my room and clean up.” Clean up? Jesus. What a way to bring up the fact that we fucked like teenagers last night.

No. Not exactly teenagers. It was pretty amazing. But that’s what the bad boys do, right? They hook you with great sex and then leave you. So why not leave him first?

“Oh.” He pauses, thinking probably.

“I got a date with Cole tonight though. So we’re still on for Operation Jealousy? Or is this a good sign and I should stop with the games?”

“Date, huh?” He sounds unsure. But that’s typical, right? He probably wants another one-night stand with me. And honestly, I should not have had sex with him again. One night is OK, I guess. It’s a fling. But we’ve been taking this too far. “I think you’re probably on your way to bagging your man. So you don’t need me anymore.”

Hmmm. His usually friendly demeanor is gone. In fact, if I didn’t know better I’d think he was jealous.

“So he’s the guy for you, huh?”

“Yeah, right? That was the whole point of all these things we’ve been doing the past week.”

“And you love him, right?”

“Well, I’m not sure about love, Fletcher. Do you love every girl you bang?”

He huffs some air into the phone.

“Don’t get weird on me, OK? You’re the one who wanted a one-nighter.”

“You were the one who wanted last night, if my memory serves.”

“Yeah, well, I was feeling dejected.”

“And I was just there?”

“What the hell, Fletcher? You’re not interested in me. You’re interested in a job, remember? You wanted us to use each other. And we did. And now you’re trying to pretend you actually like me? You want me to feel guilty for going for the guy who was the goal the whole time? Wow.”

“I never said I was pretending to like you, Tiffy. I picked you out of a crowd for a reason.”

“Yeah, to fuck me for one night and then throw me away like trash. Just like you always do.”

“So you’re gonna get the jump on that, then? And throw me away before I have a chance?”

“So you admit it!”

“I’m not admitting shit, other than I had a nice time last night and I’d like to do it again.”

“Oh, so we’re just gonna keep this going? An endless string of casual sex with no commitments? I don’t think so. I’m not that kind of girl, for one thing. And I’m not interested in casual.”

“How do you even know I was thinking casual, anyway? Did you ever ask?”

“You have it written all over you, Fletcher. Your sign says Don’t get attached, because I sure won’t. And so I took your warning to heart and now you’re mad at me? How is that fair?”

“I’ll ask you again. You’re just gonna throw this away and not even give it a chance?”

“Give what a chance? I’m having a hard time understanding you, Fletcher. Do you even know what you want? Do you even know who you want? Why me?”

“Huh,” he says, laughing out the word. “Classic self-loathing, Tiffy. You don’t think you’re good enough. You’re so sure I could never like you for real, you decide to fuck it all up and ditch me first before you can get hurt.”

“What are you talking about? We fucked last night, nothing more.”

“Really? That’s all it was? You didn’t feel any connection with me at all?” He pauses again, but I get the feeling he’s got more to say and I can’t help but be intrigued. So I stay silent. “Because I did. It was fun, Tiff. But it was more than fun. It was nice. And I was seriously hoping you had real feelings for me. Because I’d like to get to know you better.”

I don’t know what to say to that. A childish insult just seems wrong. What if he is sincere? Would I want him?

He’s definitely hot. So yeah, I guess there’s that. But his personality, God, what do I do with that? He’s a callous player. He thinks love is a game. He’s out for himself. And he’s a stripper, for Pete’s sake. How will a man like him care for me? He’s a I’m-gonna-walk-out-on-you kind of guy if ever there was one. I just know it. The minute I depend on him, those true colors will come through and he’ll leave me. Just like my real father did to my mother. Cole is the stable choice. Just like Randall was the stable choice for my mom. “It’s not about me being good enough for you, Fletcher. It’s whether you’re good enough for me.”

Silence.

And then hang-up beeps.

I just stare at the phone. What the fuck was that? Since when does he have feelings? Like any feelings? He’s Mr I Have No Feelings! And we have one night of great sex and I’m supposed to believe he’s changed? How the fuck does that make sense?

Just put him out of your mind, Tiffy. He’s no one. He’s using you. He’s the worst kind of player. Because maybe he does have an inkling of emotion in him beyond lust, but I just know he’s a flight risk. I can see it now. I tell him what he wants to hear, we have a few great weeks of hot sex, and then he’s on to the next project. That’s all girls are to him. Projects.

“Fuck that. I’m not a project.”

But I am. Because I made a deal with him to get Cole.

No. It’s not the same, Tiffy. Nothing he did helped me. Cole wasn’t interested in me when I was flirting. He was the opposite of interested. He only became interested when I was real. When I put myself out there without any help from Fletcher and made my move. I’m the one who got him excited about having dinner with me today. I’m the one who took a chance. And Fletcher had nothing to do with that. Cole likes me when I’m me. Fletcher just likes me when I’m naked.

I take a deep breath and pull on some shorts and a tank top. I’m going to the spa. I’m gonna relax for the whole day, and then get prettied up and meet Cole for dinner. I’m not gonna waste my chance with the possibility of a maybe from Fletcher Novak. No way.