So Long: Bad Boy Next Door

by Kelley Harvey

A crash.

  What the fu—?

  Chloe scrambles from the sill to my legs, claws digging in as she propels herself over my shoulder to the dining table.

  What on Earth?

  I reach for her, barely grazing the tip of her tail with my fingers.

  A mass of muscle and fur throws itself into my lap, knocking my computer to the floor.

  Holy shits.

  My heart thumps as a brown and white beast clambers to get his feet under him while trampling my gut. Slobber smears my chest.

  Too bad that’s the first saliva I’ve had on my tits in fuck-knows how long.

  Ew, and it’s slimy.

  A bark rings in my ear as the dog jumps over the sofa and onto my table in pursuit.

  I jump from the couch, sprinting to the kitchen, where mayhem reigns.

  The cat makes her way around the countertops as the wiggly-butted boxer chases her from surface to surface.

  Canisters scatter and roll. Paper napkins flutter. And my thawing hen slides across the counter like a shuffleboard puck going for the goal.

  I dart across the room.

  Too late.

  The pullet takes flight across the kitchen—apparently feathers aren’t necessary after all.

  Hands out, I launch into the air. The slippery hen evades rescue, landing on the floor with a thud, skidding between the mutt and me on its way toward the door.

  The dog loses all interest in the kitten as he snatches the bird. The whites of his eyes show as he watches me, all the while dodging my flailing grasp.

  Oh, hell no. Not my chicken.

  I block the exit, arms wide. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  He readjusts his grip on my dinner. His big paws slide on the linoleum as he tries to plow past me.

  I get hold of his collar, hooking my fingers under it. “I’ve got you now.”

  Fucker’s a freaking diesel truck.

  He pulls me down, but I hang on for all I’m worth. Too much has been taken from me lately to lose my lunch to a mutt.

  I manage to flip over and get one leg on either side of him, feet braced against the door frame of the kitchen’s entrance for leverage. Like a cartoon, his legs are in motion, but he’s going nowhere fast. Until he manages to get his front paws to the place the linoleum meets the carpet.

  He gains traction. He strains against his collar, whipping his head left and right as I try—and fail—to grab my chicken with my free hand.

  Suddenly, the tension between the beast and my grip is relieved when the leather snaps. The brown, bobbed tail and sinewy hind legs make tracks through to the living room.

  I scramble to my feet and follow.

  By the time I get into the other room, all that’s left to show there was a strange pooch mauling my buttered and seasoned roaster is a busted out screen, a kitchen catastrophe, and my poor, shell-shocked kitty staring down from the top of the refrigerator as though she expects the hellion to return any second.

  I lean out the window, hands on the sill, yelling to the sky, “Whoever owns that damned dog owes me a chicken dinner!”

  Adam jogs over from his yard, a mangled poultry carcass wrapped in an old towel in his hand, a grin peeking out from under all that facial hair. “So this is yours?”

  I glare. “Who does that brute belong to? Did you see? I’ve got a thing or two to say to them about keeping their mutt in their yard, rather than turning him loose on the neighborhood where he can rain down chaos and terror on unsuspecting homeowners and tiny kittens.”

  Adam tucks the turbaned chicken behind his back and rocks on his heels. “That’d be Spike. He’s my mutt. Sorry.”

  My nostrils flare, and my teeth grind.

  “That’s all you have to say? Sorry?” I brace my knees against the window frame and lean out to poke him in the chest. “He stole my dinner, not to mention the mess he left me to clean up. And my cat—my sweet kitty is going to need extensive counseling and will probably still suffer PTSD. And God help you if my computer is broken—that’s my freaking living.”

  “The cat? PTSD?” His brow wrinkles. “Seriously?”

  A brown and white streak passes behind Adam.

  Adam stumbles forward, then catches himself against the siding of my house with his empty hands.

  Ears back, my dinner firmly clamped between his jowls, towel flapping behind him, Spike makes tracks between the houses.

  Adam calls after him, “C’mon, Spike. You’re not helping!”

  I lean further out of the window as the ass-end of the dog skids around the gate into Adam’s back yard.

  Adam turns to me with a half-shrug. “Well, it was already ruined anyway. Right?”

  “You. And that mutt. Ugh!” Fury wells in my chest.

  Intending to slam the damned window and show him what I think of his freaking critter, I move to duck backward through the opening.

  A crack accompanies a sharp pain lancing the back of my skull.

  “Aw, fuck.” I press my hand against the throb. “Damn.”

  I open my eyes, wincing as I check for blood.

  Adam reaches for me. Before I can dodge his palm, he pushes my head down until I’ve cleared the danger zone and am completely inside. I stumble backward a step or two.

  He grabs the upper part of the window frame and swings into the house. “Here, let’s see.”

  I frown. “No. Thanks. I’m fine.”

  “Let me look.” He steps toward me.

  I retreat.

  “Don’t be a baby. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I’m not being a baby. And I’m fine. It’s a little bump on the noggin.”

  He wipes his hands on his jeans and reaches for me, framing the sides of my face with big, callused palms as he tilts my skull forward. “Just let me see.”

  I hold still while he inspects the injury.

  When he steps closer, he dwarfs me.

  My heartbeat thumps, not only in my chest, but also at the knot that’s likely forming on my head.

  He gently lays a kiss on my crown, and a warm ribbon of—of something I haven’t felt in a long time winds through me.

  “I think you’re going to live.” He says, his lips still pressed to the sore spot.

  I swallow hard as a tendril of caution pulls me away from his touch—his mouth. I drag in a measured breath and release it even more slowly. It does nothing to calm the erratic rhythm of my blood crashing through my veins.

  “Okay then.” I clasp my hands behind me, if for no other reason than to keep myself from grabbing his shirt and yanking him closer.

  That would be a bad idea.

  He pulls his shades off, revealing the part of his face I’ve not seen before. His hooded gaze is intense and traps my own when I want nothing more than to look anywhere but at him.

  I clear my tight throat. “Thanks for checking me out. I mean—hell—I hope your dog enjoys my dinner. Have a nice rest of your day.”

  Hazel eyes bore into mine. “What if I’m not finished checking you out?”

  My mouth goes dry as all the moisture drains straight to my sadly under-used girly parts.

  Oh, good Lord, what do I do?

  “I should see how Chloe’s doing.” I turn away.

  He grabs my hand and pulls my back against his chest, his palm gliding around my waist, lightly holding me against him.

  His breath tickles the nape of my neck when he whispers, “I understand you need a little help with your writing.”

  Warmth curls low in my belly. “My writing?”

  “Yeah. I heard you might be looking for a way to free the tension that’s got your words all jammed up. I can give you the release you need.”

  The throbbing from my head takes up residence in my pussy, each heartbeat a reminder of how long it’s been since anyone has given me any kind of release.

  Call him on his bluff. Leigh’s words come to mind, bringing a smile with them.

  “Is that so?” I twist in his embrace until we’re face to face.
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br />   His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  My stomach quivers as something comes over me—call it mischief, stupidity, or insanity. It doesn’t really matter.

  Steadying myself by holding on to his rock hard biceps, I stand on my tip-toes and nip his lip. “I think you just want to kiss me.”

  Lord, what has gotten into me?

  “Oh, I want to do way more than that.”

  His lips crash into mine. His arms tighten around my waist as he walks me backward to the chaise lounge. He sucks in my bottom lip as he lays me down.

  This is not the smartest thing I’ve ever done.

  I surrender to the sensations rocking me. He nestles his hard-on against the pulse beating between my legs. His body covers me as he plunders my mouth and his hand wanders to my breast. He drags his teeth across my lip and grinds his hips against mine, pressing his erection closer.

  It’s been so long. And I think he really wants me.

  Me.

  Adam’s tongue slashes mine as he deepens the kiss. He trails kisses from the corner of my mouth down the side of my neck to my collarbone. I arch my back, crushing my breast into his palm. He squeezes as he pushes the top of my cami down to taste my nipple, running his tongue around the pink bud and sending a spark of pleasure straight to my pussy.

  I grab the hem of his t-shirt, dragging it up so I can run my hands over the heated skin of his back. Muscles ripple beneath my fingertips as they dance across the contours of his torso. I close my eyes tighter, reveling in the feel of him.

  All the while, I do my best to push away the little voice in the recesses of my mind sending out warnings.

  This is truly nuts.

  Plain irresponsible.

  After all, I don’t know this guy from—from—well, Adam.

  A giggle bursts from my lips just as he pops the snap on my pants.

  He pulls up short. “What’s funny?”

  I throw my hand over my face, my grin refusing to fade. “Nothing. Really.”

  He narrows his eyes.

  “Sorry. I had a thought.” I bite my lips together trying to stem the next wave of giggles.

  He props up on his elbows. “A thought made you laugh… in the middle of that?”

  I nod.

  “Care to share?” He quirks one eyebrow.

  I lean up to kiss his fur-covered chin. “Not in the least.”

  “Sharing is caring.” He pushes up until he hovers over me.

  “Who said I care?”

  A light comes into his eye like he’s accepting a challenge.

  He grins, and his tongue traces the seam between my lips. “I think you will.”

  His hand dives into my shorts, and his fingers push between my legs. They glide across my slippery slit.

  He lets out a low groan. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

  I lift my hips, and his finger sinks deeper.

  His mouth finds mine again. His tongue and fingers dip and withdraw in a coordinated rhythm designed to make me lose my freaking mind.

  Even though I have no doubt I’ll regret it, I push my clit against the heel of his palm, sending little sparks through my pussy. He grazes that special spot right inside my entrance and rubs it.

  I throw my head back and moan as more wetness seeps to my opening.

  He pulls away, standing on his knees between my legs. “What were you thinking?”

  I look at him through my lashes. “When?”

  “What made you giggle?” He massages my pussy, but through my shorts, not skin to skin.

  I move toward his touch. He retreats.

  “It was nothing.”

  “Do you want me to kiss you again?” His knuckles tease the inside of my thigh.

  I bite the edge of my lip.

  I shouldn’t want him to touch. I should be running the other direction.

  I nod.

  “Then tell me.” He runs his forefinger over the seam of my pants, right over my pulsing nub. “And maybe I’ll kiss you here.”

  Yes, please.

  “Fine. I was thinking that here I am kissing you, but I don’t know you from Adam.”

  His face goes serious for a moment. “But I am Adam.”

  “That’s why it’s funny, silly man.” I prop up onto my elbows and smile. “I don’t do this sort of thing. Ever.”

  “Ever?”

  I shake my head. “I got married young and haven’t—you know, since the divorce.”

  “So, you—it’s been a while?”

  I suck in a deep breath and clamp my jaw tight as I nod again.

  He grins as he pops his glistening fingers into his mouth. “Damn, that’s good.”

  Within three beats of my galloping heart, he’s got my shorts and panties in a pile next to the chaise.

  His breath ghosts over my bud as he says, “I’ve got to taste you. Now.”

  He drops his head between my legs and covers my clit with the flat of his tongue. The warmth and wetness of his mouth slather sensation over my most sensitive parts as his hands push my knees open wide.

  This is crazy.

  But…crazy might be good for a change.

  Crazy might be the thing that saves my sanity.

  I drop to my back, allowing him full access as my fingers push through his silky hair.

  He tickles my bud with his tongue, and then slips down to my lower lips, dipping between my folds.

  Oh, Gawd.

  My hips buck against his mouth. He covers my belly with one big hand, holding me as he suckles my clit. His other hand slides down so his finger can slip into my entrance. He thrusts it into my opening as his tongue circles my nub.

  I whimper with pleasure and pant as the coil tightens, bringing me closer and closer to the precipice.

  He looks up, his gaze holding mine as he grinds harder against my curls with his tongue and teeth.

  His finger slams into me, deeper and deeper. He uses the perfect amount of pressure to keep me at the edge of the cliff, but not send me over.

  But then he closes his mouth over my clit and sucks hard, his finger batting against the inside of my pussy, repeatedly swiping across that special spot that makes every muscle tighten and strain closer. I push against him, grabbing at the sides of the chaise, trying to gain some sort of control as wave after wave of heat washes over me and my body lets go. The liquid coiled in my belly unwinds in a delicious ribbon of bliss.

  I don’t just go over the edge—I dive off the cliff, head first, into a pool of pleasure.

  The hand over my navel migrates so his thumb can massage my twitching clit. Adam’s tongue dips into my slit, sliding up and down and pushing in as he sucks and slurps up my cream.

  His growl sends vibrations through my pussy.

  He raises his head. “I love the way you taste.”

  I sit up and pull him to me. His mouth falls on mine, wet and warm, slick with my cream. My tongue darts past his lips. He tastes of me, and it makes me all the hotter.

  My hands go to the snap on his jeans.

  When it pops open, his hands grab mine, and he pulls back until he’s sitting at the foot of the chaise. “No. This was for you.”

  “Why can’t it be for both of us?” I move toward him.

  “I’m not worried about me.”

  “Maybe I am.” I glance at the bulge behind his straining zipper. “Why would you deny yourself? Let me do something for you too.”

  He stands and adjusts himself. “That’s all right. All I wanted was a taste of that sugar glider. It was every bit as sweet as I imagined it would be.”

  His eyes flit to the apex of my thighs, and a smile plays on his lips.

  I close my legs, hiding his view. “What a crock of shit.”

  “Why? Hasn’t a guy ever just wanted to pleasure you? To get you off and enjoy the fact that he can?”

  I cross my arms. “Only in my books. Not once in my real life.”

  He tips up my chin. “Well, now you have.”

  Adam lea
ns in and brushes his lips across mine. He turns and walks out the front door, closing it quietly behind him.

  I jump up to go after him, but stop when I open the door and the breeze grazes my coochie.

  Shit, not again.

  I slam the door before the neighborhood gets a Marilyn Monroe style crotch shot.

  Fine. Be that way.

  I just needed a little stress release—and I got it.

  It’s not like I’m looking for a relationship.

  FOUR

  Blue balls my ass. Try fucking black balls.

  I stand under the icy spray of the shower, waiting for my hard-on to relax. At this rate, it could take hours.

  When I woke up in the hospital all those months ago, the doctors painstakingly explained the nature of my injuries. One even used a pad of paper and drew diagrams of my anatomy, as it was and as it is now. Hell, I was thankful I had a dick at all. And that first time I got aroused, I was thrilled it still had full function.

  Of course, it only took about six times in the saddle to figure out there was at least some nerve damage.

  Damage that could drive a lesser man to drink.

  But I’m not a lesser man. I’m strong.

  Strong enough to walk away.

  I’m man enough to know that if I can’t come, some women think it’s their fault, like they aren’t doing something right, or that I’m not attracted to them or some shit.

  I’ll be fucked if I let Kelsey think there’s something wrong with her. She’s beautiful—hot as fuck—and I won’t have her doubt herself. Just because I have a problem, doesn’t mean she should ever think she’s not enough.

  No. That’s my burden to bear—alone.

  At least I’m here to bear it. Shulls and the other guys are gone, and none of them will ever be with a woman again. Whether or not I can ejaculate is nothing compared to that.

  So, the shower it is.

  Freezing water. Full blast.

  And still, my hard-as-marble erection takes forever to calm the fuck down.

  This house was supposed to take six months to get into shape in order to sell it and turn a profit. Flipping houses is a pain in the ass. At least, flipping this one is. Since it’s my first, I really don’t know about any others. Hopefully, they’ll get easier the more I do this. And cheaper.

  I grab the pickaxe and make my way around the house to the old shed that needs to be bull-dozed, but it can’t because the houses are too damned close together to get one back here.