Текст книги "Jerk"

Автор книги: Kat T. Masen

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

 

I run so fast from him, still reeling from the fact I had punched him in the mouth. The adrenaline is coursing through my veins at a rapid rate, and when I make it home I slam the door hard, terrified yet somehow exhilarated from the excitement of it all. Collapsing onto my bed, my knuckles begin to throb in pain; seeking comfort in an ice pack and bottle of red will do the trick.

What was I thinking?

Somehow, I had allowed the anger and uncertainty to build up so that it was only a matter of time before I flew off the handle. How stupid was I to think Jason would sit around and not look for another woman? The hurt and jealousy was so much more painful than I anticipated, to the point that I was driven to punch Haden after his tactless comment.

Did he have a point though?

No, the Jerk was just clutching onto straws and had no sense of decency. He had it in for me (God knows why) and the bottom line is I have to watch my back. The cunning bastard was probably used to getting his way no matter who he stepped on. Well, take that, dipshit! I doubt he’ll be able to get laid with a face like that, especially when he admits a girl hit him.

Nothing sounds more appealing than a quiet night in, but Vicky rushes over the second I call her to tell her what happened. Before I know it, the bottle of wine is empty, and Vicky will be my savior tonight.

“Pres, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t, that’s the big fucking problem. I don’t think about the consequences anymore.” I shake my head at myself, staring at the wall, trying to figure out where the Presley Malone I had known my whole life disappeared to. “When I was with Jason, everything was so easy. I didn’t have to think. We had a routine, life was simple.”

“How boring. Be honest, for a split second—wasn’t this a tad bit exciting?”

Vicky is my best friend; I can’t lie to her face. “Even if it was, I can’t go around punching every man in the city. I’ll end up in jail and fed to the lesbians.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Vicky winks.

That catches my attention, but I’m not going to delve into Vicky’s wild sexual history…not tonight anyway. Plus, I would probably need more than a night.

“I’m going to end up an old lady surrounded by cats.” I nestle my head against her arm. “Promise me you’ll stop me when there’s too many cats?”

Vicky chuckles. “Honey, the only pussy you got is the one filling up with cobwebs. I’m glad you decided to go out tonight, although you may need to sober up a little or we won’t be able to get in anywhere.”

“I’m fineee,” I slur.

“I’ll whip up something to eat. Go have a shower and by then you will be fineee,” Vicky mimics.

Two hours later, I am fed and dressed and we are standing at the bar, ordering shots. Vicky’s omelet had some magic ingredient to sober me up enough that I was able to put on a tight red dress and apply some makeup without looking like a circus freak. Vicky looks gorgeous, dressed in a short white number that enhances her olive skin. Being tall, she doesn’t need pumps and when she wears them she is a goddess on legs. Curves in all the right places. Men are naturally drawn to her which makes me feel like the third wheel.

“Slippery nipples?” she asks.

“What the hell, Vicky?”

She laughs, placing her arm around me. “It’s a drink.”

“Oh.”

The bartender, cute as he may be, serves us drinks but does not stick around to chat. A little bummed, I swivel my chair to be faced by a tall man dressed in a fitted white shirt and black denim jeans. He is very broad, and with a sly grin he flashes his pearly whites. Wow, are they white! I mean, it’s dark in here and those bad boys are glowing enough that you can make out the footprints on the floor.

Remember what you mother once told you—it’s rude to stare.

He introduces himself as Ian, a gym junkie from California. As Vicky turns to face us, she almost falls off her chair whispering in my ear, “He’d make your beaver glow with the amount of bleach he’s sporting.”

I look at her, confused. Then the penny drops. Vicky apologizes to Ian, then drags me to the dance floor in an effort to save me.

“You’re welcome!” she yells over the music.

“What was wrong with him?”

“Oh honey, you got to up the ante now. Jason was great and a real looker, but hey, you could have done better.”

Offended, I stop dancing and stare at my friend. “What do you mean I could have done better?”

Vicky continues to sway her body, oblivious that her comment struck a nerve.

“Jason was everything you wanted on paper but he wasn’t the guy for you. You need someone who will challenge you, and most importantly, make your toes curl in the bedroom.”

“Jason was great. Maybe I’m the problem, I’m the one who didn’t challenge him and maybe I’m the dud in the bedroom.”

Vicky stops dancing mid-song and her green eyes appear agitated. Her long golden brown locks stop swaying and rest nicely against her chest. With no warning, she latches onto my arm and drags me back to the bar. She motions for the bartender, ordering two rounds of shots. Without saying a word just yet, she waits till the glasses are placed before us, then turns to face me with a stern look on her face.

“Now, you listen to me, Presley Malone. I never, ever, want to hear you say you are the problem. Any fucking guy in this club would be lucky to have you and don’t you dare let that stupid photo of Jason make you feel any less. You hear me?”

I nod like a child being scolded, then Vicky gives me a tight embrace, reassuring me that we are going to have the greatest night. She slides the shots closer to me and I down them in one go each.

We giggle uncontrollably as the alcohol sets in, until Vicky abandons me to use the restroom, claiming she has some tampon emergency that has dampened her chances of hooking up.

I sway to the music, the band playing a recent pop song, and all the while I am forgetting that Jason ever existed and I’m feeling as free as a bird. Vicky’s right, Jason was great on paper. He was your typical six-foot, blond hair, blue-eyed hottie. He had a great job, great family, and loved his sports. In the bedroom, he was great. Well, great compared to what I had experienced in the past. He knew how to make me come, but even then, it was routine. Kind of like playing a piano; once you know the notes, you can play with your eyes closed.

When I think back to the last year of having sex, it was dull. Same old positions, me on top, and once in a blue moon he would take me from behind. Foreplay was ancient history. The reality was we were both busy, knew how to get each other off, and did it within five minutes.

I was equally to blame.

The question now weighing heavily on my mind was, Is it possible to have a relationship with someone and still keep those butterflies and the foreplay alive? I need someone who can crawl under my skin and plant that seed of lust, where all I can think about is our bodies banging together in perfect harmony.

You’re horny and need to get laid.

Oh, and tequila, please stop talking now.

The night was not supposed to be spent thinking about Jason, so I divert my eyes to a group of people in their mid to late twenties that are huddled in the corner. The guy with the jet-black hair is smokin’ hot, and even in my intoxicated state, I am not immune to my kitty getting down and dirty.

He is wearing only a khaki wife beater; every inch of his arms are covered in tattoos and boy, oh boy, does he have a set of arms on him! The way he is standing against the wall shows off his tall muscular build. C’mon, would I really screw a guy I didn’t know? Probably not, God only knows where he has been and for all I know, he could be part of some underground drug ring willing to kidnap me and hold me ransom.

Seriously, I need to get laid and not read so many books.

I am happily sipping away at my drink when Vicky returns, and I’m quick to point out Mr. Smokin’ Hot. Of course she agrees that he is one fine specimen, but her enthusiasm is short lived when she abandons me for some dude wearing a bowtie. Way to go Vicky, you sure know how to pick them! She promises to return in a few minutes. Yeah whatever. She totally broke the girl code.

Keeping myself entertained, I continue to watch Mr. Smokin’ Hot and happen to catch a glimpse of the female beside him. She is wearing the tackiest gold dress that drops low, exposing her very fake, ample bosom. On closer inspection, the lady beside her looks strikingly similar, and as I focus in I realize they are twins and one of them is Dee Simmons from work. Totally explains the skankiness I was smelling in here.  Honestly, her sister looks no better. Why, oh why, are the hot men attracted to such tramps? He just lost five points on my scale of one-to-ten—ten being the kind of man I could see myself bending my five-month-rule for.

Just when I am about to turn away, bored by the sleaziness, a very dark and mysterious guy beside Mr. Smokin’ Hot catches my attention. Perhaps all is not lost, so I prepare my flirtatious smile only for my stomach to do a backflip as I realize it’s none other than the Jerk himself.

Oh shit.

I swivel back around, almost causing myself whiplash, and pretend to be waiting for the bartender, praying to the lord he didn’t notice me. Vicky is standing at the opposite side of the bar and amid the heavy noise. I attempt to gain her attention so she can ditch bowtie dude and we can blow this pop stand before the angry wolf hunts me down.

No such luck of course, so what’s a girl to do? I pull my hair forward to remain inconspicuous and strategically cover my eyes. The bartender is looking at me like I’m some crazed weirdo, so I slip him a twenty and order another drink. He appears again moments later with some harder liquor and I down it in one go, much to his amusement.

The room is spinning, flashing colors and lights blurring as they speed past me. Everyone at the bar looks distorted which only adds to the hilarity, and so I find myself laughing at absolutely nothing. I definitely am not in the mood for another confrontation, but given that minutes have passed, I assume he has the sense to stay away from me. An unfamiliar cold hand is placed on my shoulder; I jump at the touch and turn to be met by Haden.

Oh…fuck. Here we go; no good can come of this.

Looking supremely pissed off, his lip is swollen from the smack in the face and there is a slight cut on his cheek from the costume ring I was wearing at the time. Behind his glasses, his eyes have narrowed, and beneath his lips I see a puff of air followed by a grunt. He looks different from his usual self, and I figure it’s because he’s wearing tight black pants and a denim, collared shirt rather than his corporate attire.

Gee, he smells nice, and look at the way his forearms flex when he is angry.

My shoulders begin to move up and down and I start to laugh again, unable to control myself.

“You think this is funny?”

I don’t, but it is. God knows my sense of humor was swept away with my will to live the past couple of days. Is it so wrong that I am getting off on his pure hatred for me right now? The way his brows furrow and the death stare that follows makes it all the funnier.

“You got punched in the face by a girl.” I chuckle.

It’s kinda funny.”

The bartender overhears me, and with a grin he pours me another drink. What a swell fella! I give him my best wink.

“Don’t you think you should stop drinking now?” Haden growls, holding back the glass from my lips.

“What are you, my dad? I’m thirty fucking two. I can do whatever the hell I want. Presley Malone is wearing her big-girl panties,” I slur, followed by more laughter.

I could swear, even in my intoxicated state, that he is smirking and his eyes have wandered down my body. Maybe I need to stop drinking. My imagination is off with the fairies. Wasn’t it only minutes ago you thought he was mysteriously handsome? Someone please splash cold water on me now!

“Jesus, would you stop? You’ll end up taking some idiot home at the rate you’re going.”

“Wait a minute. Weren’t you the one who told me that I needed to pull the stick out of my ass and replace it with something else?”

He remains silent and I laugh in his face, ending our argument. Grabbing his arm, I hop off the stool and push him aside to head to the dance floor. Sober, there would be no chance in hell I would dance by myself, but what won’t kill me will make me stronger. That, and I just want to escape him.

The dance floor is stifling hot and bodies are squished together, forcing me to bump butts with a cougar beside me. She has to be at least fifty, dressed in the tightest leather pants I have ever seen, trying to tongue-wrestle a guy young enough to be her son. God help me, I don’t want to be single at fifty. What if I have to wear tight leather pants? This image is depressing, and all of a sudden my self-esteem has sailed away until Mr. Smokin’ Hot is dancing in front of me. I am pulled out of my mini-funk so fast I swear my kitty is twerking beside me. Just for a split second, the idea of having this gorgeous man inside me is sending signals to all the right places.

I move in a little closer, and he leans in to whisper.

“You’re gorgeous. What’s your name?”

“Presley,” I respond in my seductive, yet intoxicated, voice.

The heat is radiating off his body and the closer I move in, the more excited I feel. He wraps his arms around my waist and just before our bodies touch, I am pulled into a different direction and the distance between us grows. What’s happening? Moments later, I am in the alleyway and Haden is standing in front of me, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

“What the hell just happened?”

“I don’t get you!” he yells.

“What?” I am still looking at the door, confused and trying to understand what the hell just happened.

“You act all Miss Perfect, and then you’re on the dance floor like a tramp.”

“What did you just call me?”

He almost looks apologetic, but verbal diarrhea is hard to control (I should know). The bubbles of anger are simmering at the surface and I clench my fists, controlling my behavior as much as I possibly can. I’m not going to rule out the idea of smacking that pretty face of his again.

“God, you think it’s okay to punch people in the face?”

“You think it’s okay to bring someone down when they are already on the ground barely able to walk? The shit you said hurt, okay? I’ve been single for two minutes and I see my ex-fiancé with another woman! This was the guy I was going to spend the rest of my life with. I love him. I didn’t just forget what love is even if I called it quits.”

“Why did you call it quits?” he demands.

It’s a yelling match, and normally I would have told him to butt out. “Because I wanted more, okay? I don’t know what the hell that is and maybe I’m stupid for thinking that life wasn’t about being comfortable. I wanted excitement, kinda like punching you in the face.”

The laughter escapes me again and my fists relax, moving towards my stomach to control the stitch forming from the uncontrollable giggles.

“And you still think that’s funny?”

I bet it hurt; the swollen lip looks terrible on him and all I want to do is make it worse.

I have my devil suit on, pitchfork standing proud, and I play nasty.

I move my body forward and smash my lips onto his.

Oh shit. Now it’s officially game over.

 

Sometimes, in our wildest dreams, something extraordinary happens. A moment where you pinch yourself because you’re certain it’s just a dream, only to find out it is in fact reality.

When I was eight, my mom dragged me to a shopping mall where the cast of Dallas was appearing. Never had I seen my mom so excited to meet a bunch of old folk that apparently were royalty in the soap opera world. My dad found it both hilarious and pathetic but gave her some extra spending money to buy a new dress, should she be lucky enough to get a photo.

I never forgot the moment when one of the lead actors asked a question to the crowd, picked my mom to answer, then welcomed her up onto the stage. Every woman in that overcrowded shopping mall was green with envy. On the car ride home (and days continuing) it was all she could talk about. Her wildest dream came true and maybe, one day, if I was fortunate enough, it could happen to me.

I wasn’t aspiring to meet the cast of Dallas but I had high hopes that the cast of Melrose Place would make it out to Virginia. It never happened of course.

Making out with Haden Cooper—the biggest jerk to walk the planet—is not my wildest dream. Yet everything about what is happening between us in this dark and secluded alleyway is the wildest thing to happen to me. Dreams and reality become a hazy fog. What the hell am I doing? Purposefully, I move my hands towards my thigh, pinching myself in hopes that it’s all a dream, but low and behold, each pinch only causes me to scowl as his lips press hard against mine.

It was supposed to cause him pain. So why the hell is he kissing me back?

I try to pull away, but he has my body pinned against the dirty brick wall and my head is telling me to kick the Jerk in the balls. What the fuck is that thing my body is doing?

It’s becoming soaking damn wet and you’re thinking about all the places he could stick that tongue in.

I bite his lip with slight force, coercing him to pull away, but his body is pressed hard against mine and like ice, my body is melting under his touch. I know this is wrong, yet something is happening that excites me in a way I have never experienced. I loathe him. He is annoying and his sole purpose on this earth is to push my buttons.

And he just happens to be pushing the right ones.

His tongue is circling mine at a slow yet intense pace, teasing it enough to make me moan. I am unable to pull away now, and surprise even myself with my hands moving towards his hair, tugging it until he grunts in my mouth. These sounds are foreign and the excitement is overwhelming, my panties soaked with a persistent throb.

I know I have too much pride to ever allow this to happen, and slowly coming to my senses, I make a proper attempt at moving my mouth away from his and using my upper body to twist out of his grip. Of course it is fruitless, and with a forceful body slam, his groin is pressed against me so hard that I feel it throbbing, exciting me further.

Pulling his lips back, his warm breath smothers the air between our faces. “This,” he says, with a low rumbling growl, “is payback for smashing my face.”

This beautiful yet damaged face is only inches away from mine and so close that I can count the tiny freckles along the bridge of his nose. His lashes are long and curl just above his hazel eyes. Even as we stand in the dark (and I am heavily intoxicated) the color of his eyes have this shimmery light speckle that I have never noticed before. Well, why would you notice? You’re too busy telling him to shove it where the sun don’t shine. So, no point giving him a bigger head (excuse the pun) and telling him how pretty he is. Give it back—jerk style.

“You deserved it,” I tell him, catching my breath in between his ravenous kisses.

“Then you, Malone…deserve this.”

Against the wall in the dark and dirty alley, he pulls my dress above my thigh, scratching my skin as he clasps his grip firmly on my ass. I beg myself to stop this madness, but the desire has driven me into such a blissful paradise that my body is in full control. His kisses are heavy against my neck as I arch to the right, giving him free reign to my sensitive spot.  My body is sinking further, my pumps barely able to hold myself up with my legs quivering in anticipation.

It’s just the alcohol making me want him.

It’s a rebound.

You just want to forget Jason was with another woman.

You’re an idiot and will regret this.

What was that last part my brain was saying?

The frenzy in his touch drives me to move my hands inside his shirt, and his body, cool as steel, is sculpted with lean muscle. I want him inside me; the thought is dangerously exciting and very off limits. I feel the ache inside me, hungry for him to fill me and take me to places that previously only existed in my wildest imagination.

“You are such a fucking tease, Malone. You know that?”

“I don’t tease, you’re just greedy and can’t help yourself.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he tells me, running his teeth along my lobe.

I can’t even hold a conversation here, not when his hands have moved into my dress and are squeezing my breasts in a desperate plea. His constant rub against my nipples is driving me insane, and I am this close to stripping in the cool night’s air so he can suck on them like the hungry beast he is.

I lose my train of thought and giggle. Fueled by the alcohol, I struggle to stop making my skin feel so highly sensitive with every flick of his tongue. He lets me go and my laughter stops. He produces a silver foil packet and my body tenses immediately. Is this really happening? There is no turning back….back away right now, Presley! My pathetic pleas are soon forgotten as he slams his lips against mine while fiddling with his belt buckle.

He is off limits.

Think of the consequences!

You’re giving him what he wants. Unless of course…you make this about what you want.

What the hell do I want?

I want to be lost in a moment, drowning in ecstasy, and reminded why I gave up everything I had worked so hard for. Roll around in the green, green grass that is supposed to be on the other side.

But reality knocks me out cold, and in the distance I hear the noise of the night traffic; even then, the tearing of the packet is the only sound I focus on.

I can tell him to stop.

You don’t want him to stop, you horny bitch.

“Relax, I’ll make you forget he ever existed.”

And with that, he enters me as I fight for air. His entire cock is buried inside, leaving me breathless as my body adjusts to his size. I close my eyes, focusing on the sensations rather than making eye contact with him; a part of me knows I will regret this once sober.

Something feels different—odd, yet arousing.  He takes his time, easing in and out, but even then I sense his struggle. He wants it rough. He wants to fuck you like a jackrabbit. Wasn’t that what he said? Knowing that he is desperate to unleash his savage desire, I open my eyes and focus on his face. His eyes have met mine and something odd passes between us. It’s a silent agreement that this is a one-time release, a tension fuck, and both of us have our reasons for doing it.

He wants me to forget Jason.

And all I’m thinking is, Jason who?

With my face in his hands, he thrusts inside me in sync with the roll of his tongue as I moan helplessly into his mouth, unfamiliar with the pressure down below. It climbs so fast that I feel possessed within my own skin.

“Is this more?” he grunts in my ear, plunging deeper into me. The jagged edge of the brick wall is scratching my skin.

I’m barely able to string a sentence together. “More what?”

He slows down, easing in and out at a teasing pace. “You wanted more, is this the more you wanted?”

I have no idea what he is talking about due to the bottle of wine and God knows how many other drinks I had at the bar. It clicks a few moments later, and like my conscience has been freed from wearing handcuffs, there is a moment of clarity and all I can see is Jason’s face.

“I can’t…I can’t do this,” I mumble.

Haden stops, and under his glasses, his eyes are raging in fury.

“You will do this. You know how much shit you give me in the office? You’re begging for me to fuck you hard. This is what you need, Presley. You need to be fucked so hard that you will never ever forget this moment.”

His stern voice, almost demanding, turns any fear I had into raw, heated, unadulterated excitement. I do the most unexpected thing, dropping to my knees and ripping the rubber off so that his cock is bare in front of me.

Sweet Jesus! The silver barbell is shining so bright, pierced directly into the tip of his cock. I have never seen one, let alone been fucked by one, which totally explains why it feels so different.

“Like what you see?”

It’s not a question, rather the cocky bastard thinking he is some sex god because I can’t stop staring at it. I’m drunk, I know, but fuck me dead, his cock is so full and…large. No fucking wonder you were screaming in pleasure.

I take it in my mouth, slowly then forcefully, and watch him crumble. The moans escape his mouth are hidden pleas, begging me to take him in further. The second his tip hits the back of my throat, I use my hands to control the speed, all the while stroking him.

He is completely losing control.

Serves him fucking right.

His hands move to the back of my head. With his fingers running through my hair he moans loudly, and in a sudden move he pushes me away, turning me around to face the brick wall.

“Fucking tease. Now it’s payback.”

Another foil packet rips, and he re-enters me in just one short breath.

There is no holding back as he slams inside me; this time his thrusts are hard and fast without any delicacy. I beg him to fuck me harder, surprised by my own words, and he obeys with a brush against my clit that throws my body into a complete meltdown.

“I feel you. You want to come, Presley?”

I nod, not sure if words actually come out of my mouth.

He gives a final thrust with the loudest groan and just when I’m about to see stars, on the brink of orgasmic paradise, he pulls out of me and my buzz is gone.

What the fuck?

I don’t turn around instantly, allowing my brain to catch up with reality. My heart is thumping like a jackhammer, my breathing out of control as my lungs struggle to coordinate with my brain.

Did he just…?

The sound of his zipper being pulled up alarms me, followed by a gentle kiss on my bare shoulder. Without seeing his face, his breath lingers against my ear as he whispers, “Now you know how it feels.”

And then it clicks. As I turn around, I instinctively cover my breasts with my hands and attempt to adjust my dress.

He walks towards the motorcycle parked beside the door and climbs on. With his helmet in his hand, he blows me a kiss, then places his helmet on and jumps on the accelerator. He rides off with a rev of the engine, leaving me alone in the alley.

I watch him drive off, all the while thinking this is some fucking horrid nightmare. Did he just fuck me then leave me hanging without a happy ending?

I stomp my feet in frustration, screaming out into the air, “YOU FUCKING JERK!”

What have I just done?

I don’t have a second to think any longer, vomiting profusely onto the ground before I am rescued by a worried Vicky and taken home.