The Lying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag Book 5)

by Sara Ney

  “Fuck. Stop,” he rasps. “Skylar, I…don’t know any other way to say this. It’s going to sound fucking terrible.” Abe’s fingers gently roll my nipples and I could die from how good it feels.

  Die.

  “Just say it.” What could it be? Oh god. Self-doubt takes over like a wave crashing onto a calm shore. What if he hates my boobs? He hates my body, thinks I’m too—

  “Dry-humping you is neat and all, and I want you to stroke my cock, but what I really want is to fuck you. So bad.”

  He wants to fuck me? That’s great news! It’s none of those things I just mentioned; forget I said all that.

  “You want to have sex with me?”

  “Duh. Can’t you feel my cock?”

  Cock.

  When it’s not gloriously rubbing the denim seam in my jeans, it’s digging into my thigh. Big and thick and—hard.

  So yes. I can feel his cock.

  Do I want it inside me? That’s the big question I have to answer. And honestly…

  I gather my wits, and my common sense. “Abe, I want you too—so bad—but I’m not having sex in the front seat of a truck, no matter how bad I want you inside me.” There. I said it.

  “What are we going to do? We can’t go back to my place—JB is home, and if he sees you, he’ll get fighting mad.”

  My teeth chew at my bottom lip. “We can’t go back to mine—Hannah is there, and she won’t leave us alone if she sees us walking in the door.”

  Or hears us having sex in the other room. I’d never live it down. Not in a million years.

  “That’s better than being at my place. JB comes into my room unannounced all the goddamn time. I have no privacy.”

  Pfft. “You think that’s bad? Even if I lock my door, Hannah can pick it open with a bobby pin. She’s worse than a petty thief.”

  Abe is quiet for a few seconds, solving our problem. “Would you mind climbing in through my window instead of using the front door? At least JB doesn’t pick locks.”

  “What’s the worst thing that will happen if he finds me at your place?”

  “Uh. He might punch me, but I doubt it. But he might.”

  “Can you live with that?”

  “Um, yeah. I can live with him decking me in the face for a chance to fuck you in my actual bed.”

  Oh Jesus, that’s kind of romantic. “How high up is your window?”

  “First floor. I’ll give you a boost.”

  Sounds reasonable enough. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  Abe

  “Do I need to call the cops?” Skylar and I both pause at the interruption coming from the house next door. The sound of another window being cracked open stops me from giving her a final boost into my bedroom, hands splayed firmly on her backside.

  I slowly lower her back to the ground. Pivot.

  It’s one of the neighbor girls, now hanging out their bathroom window. “Did you hear me?” she says, leaning further.

  “I live here. Don’t call the cops.”

  “Prove it.”

  I feel around for my wallet, knowing that even if I pull out my driver’s license it will be useless since my school address isn’t listed on it. “Um…”

  “What’s your name?” the girl asks, holding out a can of something I can’t make out in the dark. Raid? Hairspray? Bear spray? It’s hard to tell in the dim light.

  “Abe Davis.”

  The can lowers and she sets it on a hidden countertop. “You passed.”

  “Thanks?” …for not spraying us both in the eyes with mace?

  “What the hell are you doing climbing in through the window? Lose your key?” the voice wants to know, and rightfully so. If I saw some strange dude hanging from her window, I’d try to stop him, too.

  “Uh, nope. Didn’t lose my key.”

  “Front door busted?”

  “Er…no.”

  “What then?” She’s impatient, wanting details. “You have ten seconds to explain yourself before I call the cop shop.”

  Two seconds ago she acknowledged she knew who I was!

  My hands give Skylar a gentle nudge forward. “This is a girl my roommate met on LoveU. He isn’t into her—”

  “Gee, thanks,” Skylar murmurs begrudgingly, giving me a bump with her elbow.

  “—but I am, and if he sees her inside, he’s going to get pissed, so we have to sneak in through the window.”

  The girl—whose face I still can’t see because of the backlighting—holds up her palm to stop me. “Say no more. I totally get it.” There’s a quick pause. “How many roommates do you have?”

  “Just the one.”

  “So it’s the guy with the sandy blond hair?”

  “Uh, yeah…” What’s her point?

  “My roommate Sybil has the hots for him, but she’s a big wuss.” Even though I can’t see it, I know an idea is forming in her head. “I could do you a favor and invite him over if that would help you out—but then you’d owe me.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Sure. You’d be helping me help you and helping my roommate grow a pair of lady balls and maybe hit on the guy once and for all.” The girl rests her elbows on the encasement, chin in her hand. “She leaves the house when he leaves every day, even when she doesn’t have classes, but she refuses to talk to him. It’s getting pathetic. Maybe if he’s in our actual living room and we give her a few shots of vodka, she’ll say hi.”

  “That would be fucking awesome.”

  “But then you owe me a favor,” she clarifies.

  “Deal.”

  She stands, fishing a phone out of her back pocket. The light illuminates her face, and I can finally see it clearly in the dark. “Give me his number and I’ll text him.”

  I grab my cell, too. Pull up JB’s contact and tap for his number. “Ready?”

  “Go.”

  “555-1254. His name is JB.”

  The girl chuckles. “Oh, I know what his name is. We know allll about this kid, down to his weight and shoe size.” Okay, that’s just weird. “Sybil has the entire 411 on him; memorized his bio on the wrestling website.” Pause. “She’s not a stalker or anything.”

  “Hey, even if she was,” I joke, “I’d still be giving you his number right now.”

  This gets me a laugh from Skylar, and…

  “What’s your name?” I ask, walking toward her and offering my hand through her bathroom window. “Sorry we haven’t met. I’m Abe, and this is Skylar.”

  “Rachel. Nice to finally meet you. We watch you a lot. Did you know we can see straight into your bedroom?”

  No. I. Did. Not.

  I knew I could see them, but it hadn’t occurred to me for one second that they could see me. Or that they would watch me.

  “You can?”

  Rachel laughs. “Ohhh yeah, we sure can. We surrre can.”

  Translation: we can, and we do.

  Next to me, Skylar lets out an, “Oh jeez.”

  Rachel goes on. “You should probably think about getting drapes. We can’t see your bed—”

  Thank God.

  “—although Felicity has tried, but we can see pretty much everything else you do. Rebecca loves watching you do push-ups, and sometimes Fel will sit on the toilet to watch you sit at your desk. She totally digs your nerdy glasses. So yeah, none of us is complaining about the view.”

  Christ, that’s a little creepy. Isn’t it? Am I wrong to be a bit skeeved out?

  My mind reels, trying to remember what kind of other shit I do while I’m in my room alone besides sleep, eat, and jerk off—which I usually only ever do in bed…I think?

  Shit. There was that one time I masturbated in the rocking chair, but that was during the day between classes and practice.

  I think?

  Fuck.

  “We don’t mind the show.”

  Skylar does not need to hear this so I steer her back toward my window, praying that when I shove her through it, she doesn’t fall onto my desk and break my laptop. Or
make a shit ton of noise. “Okay, well, it was great chatting with you Rachel. Buh-bye now.”

  “So good meeting you in person, Abe.” She spares Skylar a glance. “You too, new girlfriend. Don’t worry, we won’t watch you.”

  Oh my god, I do not even believe her.

  I have to get Skylar the hell out of here before this girl embarrasses me any further.

  “Hey Abe? Love those red Valentine’s Day boxers,” Rachel teases. “Oh, come on! Don’t look so tense about it. Relax, I’m just giving you a hard time.”

  But I do have red Valentine’s Day boxers—don’t ask me why my mom sent them last year for the holiday, along with a pack of red boxer briefs—and the fact that Rachel has seen them without me knowing it makes my watching their silhouettes through their sheer curtains child’s play.

  Wait. Did they know I was watching them? They had to know.

  Fuck my life.

  “No worries, wipe that look off your face,” Rachel goes on, phone in hand, face lit up by its glowing screen. She’s tapping away. “I’ll shoot JB a text right now and make it convincing, and he’ll be out of your place in a few minutes. Guaranteed.”

  I don’t know what she’s going to say to him; I can only imagine.

  “Remind me to get blinds first thing in the morning,” I mutter to Skylar.

  “Uh, in the morning? How about right now?” she quips, chagrined, foot already hovering above my cupped hands as I squat down, forming a step. “The stores are still open. We can run to Walmart.”

  “Not the worst idea.” I boost her easily and wait as she gets her bearings, straddling the window ledge, one leg feeling around in my dark room for footing.

  She has great calves.

  “Stop doing that—you’re distracting me! You want me to faceplant into your floor?” She laughs as she removes her leg from my wandering hands. “Okay. Let me go hit the light.”

  “No don’t!” I’m practically shouting, hissing into the pitch-black space between the houses. “Leave it off, he might see the light under the door.”

  Loud sigh. “Calm down, I will.”

  “Do you hear anything?” I ask. “Anything at all?”

  “Like what?” Her voice comes out of the dark shadows of my bedroom. I can hear her feeling around, bumping into things.

  “Like, oh—I don’t know, the front door opening? Jack leaving?”

  “Hold on, let me check.”

  Silence.

  More silence.

  Then,

  Skylar reappears, staring down at me from my window, hair hanging in sheets around her beautiful face. “Yup, I think I hear something. It sounds like someone by the front door may be putting boots on?” She extends a hand to hoist me up, but I got this covered. “Why don’t you wait for him to leave and come in the front door?”

  “How is that any fun?”

  Skylar pulls a face. “Good point.”

  “Push the desk out of the way if you can,” I tell her, backing up a bit, about to take a small, running start. “Then move out of the way.”

  Getting into my room is easy, takes me no time at all. I don’t mention this to anyone—ever—but back in the day, my mom used to make me take gymnastics. At first it was because my sister Monica was afraid to take the class alone and Mom wasn’t allowed to sit through the class with her.

  So she signed me up, too, and well—let’s just say I excel at the pommel horse.

  I make it in the first attempt and don’t tear my guts out in the process.

  “Holy crap!” Skylar is impressed.

  Perfect dismount.

  I call that a win.

  My shoes come off first, and I kick them toward the closet door; Skylar’s are already resting there, neatly arranged. My eyes adjust to the dark and I can make out her figure seated at the foot of my bed, resting against her hands, back arched as she watches the shadow of me moving about the space.

  I’ve lived in this room for three years, so my movements are automatic, fluid. Two steps to the desk, two more to the closet. Six to the door. Seven to the bed.

  Down the hall, the sound of the front door opening and closing as JB heads next door.

  I now owe Rachel a favor and don’t even care.

  My shirt comes off as I go, one button at a time until it gets tossed to the hardwood floor.

  When I reach her, I bend, grabbing beneath her knees, arm sliding under, the other at the small of her back. Lift.

  She gasps as I carry her to the spot where I sleep and deposit her there, as gently as I can. Walk my way back around to the foot of the bed and crawl—in just my jeans—toward her, hands running up her legs, thighs, and waist. Shoulders and neck dipping, nose nuzzling between the apex of her thighs. Give her a long whiff just to hear her gasp again. Bite down on the denim and burrow.

  A few seconds is all I need; I’m totally turned on. Rock hard.

  Blood coursing through every single vein at a breakneck pace, knowing how this little party is going to end.

  Cool it, Abe.

  Idly—some would say lazily—Skylar watches but doesn’t participate as I run my palms along the hemline of her pretty shirt, intent on its removal.

  She moves a tiny bit, shifting her hips so I can push up her shirt. Gaze trailing me in the dark. Lips softly parted.

  They shine when she licks them.

  I harden when she licks them.

  Within moments, her top is gone, discarded, tossed somewhere with mine and I bend my torso, mouth on a course for her skin.

  “Take my pants off, too,” she requests, still just lying there, hands now raised above her head, head resting on the pillow. Hair fanned out, black against the stark white.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Her wish is my command, my fingers plucking at her button-fly jeans. One. Two. Three.

  Done.

  “You’re going to call me tomorrow, right?” Her voice is timid.

  “I won’t have to, because I’ll be looking at you when we wake up,” I tell her, tongue flicking her pussy over the thin fabric of her panties. I suck, heating the patch between her legs.

  Her back arches, head coming off the pillow. “Oh my god, Abe.”

  “Shhh, babe, you have to be quiet. Just in case.” I suck her through her underwear again, hooking the silk out of my way, tongue pressing into the slit.

  Skylar’s head hits the pillow and she cranes her neck, teeth biting down on the cotton casing. “You have to stop, I’ll never…ohhhh…”

  I stop licking, rising on my haunches to unbutton my pants, the zipper whirring mingling with the sound of Skylar’s heavy breathing—and mine—as I shove my jeans and briefs down, over my lean hips. Work them off and throw them both to the floor. Spread Skylar’s legs, leisurely dragging my calloused palms over the smooth, perfect skin of her inner thighs. I kiss along them, starting at her knees—they’re shaking—hips already working in slow circles above my head.

  Wanton. Sexy.

  She wants it; I could taste it on her and now I can see and smell it.

  My plan isn’t to make her come.

  It’s to make her crazy.

  Briefly my thoughts stray to protection; I haven’t had to buy condoms in ages, but I think there’s at least one that’s unexpired in my desk drawer. Somewhere.

  Unless she’s on the pill; I wouldn’t mind going in bareback, and she has nothing to worry about from me—I’m STD-free and get tested regularly. Plus, I haven’t had sex in fucking forever. We haven’t discussed it, but I’m pretty sure she hasn’t either.

  Especially judging by how tight she is when I slide a finger inside.

  Her head thrashes, fingers white-knuckling the pillowcase like she’s on a thrill ride, which she kind of is.

  My face.

  I haven’t even seen half of her body, having spent most of my time with my mouth between her legs, so I give her one last lick, flicking the tip of my tongue up and down a few times just to hear a gasp escape her throat.

  Kiss her pussy. Her lower a
bs when I work my way up, the tip of my forefinger tracing her belly button, nestled in her pale flesh. Skylar isn’t skinny, or thin, and her stomach isn’t flat—she’s soft. Curvy like a woman should be.

  I kiss her sternum, right under the satin of her burgundy bra. I can see in the sliver of light that it’s clasped in the front—a tiny golden V, shining in the moonlight, and I free it. Spread the cups and let them fall.

  My body lowers itself beside her, dick throbbing against her outer thigh so she’s flush against me when my hand roams over the swell of one breast, then the other. Palm it, loving its weight, thumb rolling over her nipple.

  Breathy sigh.

  Languid moan.

  A gasp when I tweak it gently.

  This isn’t about me; this is about her.

  “You want me to lick it?” I ask her, whispering near her ear, breathing on her skin, my nose running along the column of her neck. “Should I lick your pretty nipple, Skylar?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?” I torment her a little longer.

  She shoots me an irritated look, eyes narrowed, arms still laced above her head, making her tits lie full and round.

  Lips pursed, she doesn’t respond.

  Point taken—she’s not submissive.

  Got it.

  “Sorry.” Not wanting to piss her off, I apologize, already whipped.

  When I dip my head to suckle, Skylar’s fingers plow through my hair, digging lightly into my scalp, massaging as I drag my tongue over her nipple. Round and round and round…

  Suck.

  Lick.

  Blow so it puckers.

  Kiss her everywhere: breasts, collarbone, the base of her neck. She tips her head back, giving me freedom to explore; I move, my body hovering over hers, dragging my hard cock over her hot, wet…

  Pussy.

  Up. Down. Up. Down along her slit, the head of my erection teasing her just enough that we’re both about to start begging for some relief.

  I know she wants me to push inside by the way she’s moving her hips and grabbing at mine. Pulling me closer. Impatient.

  But I’m not wearing a condom yet, and we haven’t had the talk. Besides, foreplay is underrated and we’re in no rush, so I plan to take it nice and slow.

  She doesn’t. “Abe…”