by Franca Storm
“Come on, man. Take that shit to the bathroom.”
He laughs. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you were getting the same treatment. Do you want me to remind you of the shit I’ve witnessed from you over the years?”
He’s got me there. “Fine,” I mutter, chugging the rest of the bottle of Jack and resting it unsteadily down on the table beside the couch. Between us, we’ve polished off an entire bottle in a couple of hours. But I’m not done yet.
I’m not numb enough. I’m still too cognizant.
I know that, because she’s still on my mind.
What the hell is wrong with me? It’s been a week since I walked out of Emma’s place. She asked me to leave for fuck’s sake. But it’s been nagging at me ever since, clawing at me, trying to bore a hole into a place that is locked up tight. It’s been relentless, persistent and I can’t seem to escape it. I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed and made sure she was all right.
No. No fucking way.
I made the right decision. Yeah, she was crying and shit, but it’s not my problem. I barely know her. She was just a potential fuck. Nothing more. I’m just obsessed right now, because I didn’t seal the deal. That’s all. Yeah, of course. I’ve never met a challenge that I haven’t been able to overcome until Emma. It’s just unfinished business. Yeah, that’s it. That’s all this is about.
But if that’s true, why has every woman I’ve come into contact with tonight, done nothing for me?
We’ve been club-hopping for hours now and I’ve felt nothing. Nothing. And there have been some hot pieces of ass flashing me their come-fuck-me looks. That thrill that I usually get when I spot a potential conquest has been non-existent tonight.
It’s her. The unattainable woman who’s somehow wormed her way into my fucking head. Not just my head, my entire being. I can still feel her. Still taste her. Those eyes of hers, sexy as fuck in their half-closed aroused state. The promise in them of so much more.
But how was I supposed to claim that promise when she has so many walls up? She’d let them down when we’d fooled around in the kitchen, but then they went right back up, keeping me at a distance, forcing me back. Denying me. That woman is so hot and cold, but fuck if it doesn’t turn me on. I’m hard just thinking about her. I swear, I can hear those soft moans of hers. They gave her away. They let me know just how much she’d wanted me too, how affected she was by the slightest touch from me. Christ, she has no idea how sexy she is when she’s on the edge like that. Sensational.
“Dan?”
It takes me a moment to register that J is calling my name. Shit. How long have I been zoning out? “Yeah?”
“Who is she?”
“Who?”
“The girl who’s had you turning down pussy all night?”
I adjust my weight on the couch. “Are you high?”
“Are you whipped?” he shoots right back. Fucker always has a response for everything.
Whipped? Hell, no. Obsessed? Maybe.
I shoot him a warning glance. And then I blow out a breath, psyching myself up for what I’m about to admit to him. He’s gonna have a field day with this one. “You know that newcomer who moved into the old house on Brook Road?”
“Yeah. Emma.”
I’m surprised as hell that he knows her name. For some reason, that doesn’t sit well with me. “You know her?”
“She emailed me asking about a quote for a roof a couple of days ago. Said it’d been leaking from the crappy weather we’ve been having recently. I went there to check it out and it’s bad. I wanted to take a look at the inside. You know, to assess the internal damage? But she wouldn’t answer the door. I figured she was out. I went back to the office and emailed her, asking for her phone number so we could discuss it. Wouldn’t give it to me. I told her I need to check the damage inside the house. Never heard back after that.”
“Is Harlson Construction gonna take the job?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “If she gets back to me, yeah.”
“Do you really need to access the house, or are you just being a prick?” Where did that come from?
He’s so surprised that he pushes the brunette away and tells her, “Enough, sweetheart. We’re done here.”
Her face twists with anger, a few choice curse words fall from her lips, before she stalks off to the dance floor. J doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. He leans forward and scrutinizes me, his eyes narrowing with obvious suspicion.
“So?” he presses when I make no move to say another word. Clearly, I can’t trust my mouth right now. It’s like it’s not connected to my goddamn brain.
“What?”
He scoffs. “Come on. Do you forget how well I know you, brother? This Emma chick is under your skin. You almost staked a claim there. What? Has she got a real sweet pussy, or some shit?”
“No fucking idea,” I snap, before I can stop myself.
He bursts out laughing, rocking back into the couch, his hands raised above his head in typical over-dramatic J fashion. He calls out to the sky above—or the ceiling—in a sarcastic prayer, “Lord, please spare me from the apocalypse I know is coming, because hell has definitely just frozen over.”
I roll my eyes. “Fuck you, asshole.”
He continues laughing his ass off at my expense. Bastard. I climb to my feet unsteadily.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Call your driver. I’m gonna take care of this shit, right the hell now,” I say, swaying on my feet as I throw out my right arm too quickly, pointing towards the club exit.
“We’re not done here. Call your own driver.”
I scowl at him. He knows I don’t have my own driver.
Like J, I have enough money to hire one, but that’s just not my scene. I might be loaded, but I don’t enjoy throwing it around like he does.
He owns Harlson Construction, a prominent business that is known far beyond the borders of our hometown. It’s financed by his family money. His dad is a big time media baron and an elitist prick, just like my mom. He wanted J to be a lawyer, but J rebelled and dropped out of college in his third year to set up Harlson Construction. And he’s done well for himself.
But like me, he has a notorious reputation as a society playboy. Our names have graced the papers and the entertainment news far too often for our parents’ liking. Even coming here tonight, there’d been a ton of paparazzi fuckers waiting for us. We’d had to sneak in the back door. Sometimes that shit has its advantages though. We’re never short of women. Ever. They know who we are and they gravitate towards us, no matter where we are.
“So, you’re okay being driven around if it’s my driver, but you can’t get one of your own?”
“That’s right.”
He gets to his feet, somehow much more able to do so than I am. He’s had as much to drink as I have, but he never seems to feel it. Sometimes, I could swear he’s superhuman. Who can stomach that much alcohol and not be affected by it?
He slaps my shoulder. “You can barely stand. I don’t think heading up to her place is a good idea right now.”
“We’re going.”
“It’s two in the morning, Dan. By the time we hit Harlson, it’ll be pushing three.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
He sighs with exasperation. He knows how stubborn I can be as soon as I get an idea in my head, especially when I’m drunk off my ass.
I barely register his warnings, though. All I can think about is Emma. Her moist lips wrapped around my cock. My hands sliding into her silky, long hair and guiding her up and down my cock as I fuck her mouth. Her whimpering with pleasure as she takes all of me. Me pulling her away at the last second, so I can sink into her pussy. Oh fuck, yeah. That’s exactly what I need. She’ll be out of my head then. This obsession will be over. And I’ll walk away like I always do. Mission fucking accomplished.
“Fine,” J gives in, pulling out his cell. “You crazy bastard. I’m telling you now, you’re gonna regret this
. You think she’s even gonna let you in?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
He shakes his head and turns away to make the call to his driver, Tommy.
Fucking right. It’s on.
Chapter 5
~Emma~
I’m jolted awake by a thunderous racket echoing aggressively through the house.
What on earth?
I roll over, my body groaning in protest. I eye my alarm clock. Three in the morning? Holy hell. The noise doesn’t stop as I climb out of bed. Right now, the normal anxiety that’d be coursing through me, because someone is clearly at my door, is completely transcended by how pissed I am that someone is knocking this late, in the middle of the night. Argh! Unbelievable.
I slide my feet into my slippers and grab my fluffy white bathrobe off the back of the door to conceal my nakedness. I hate sleeping in clothes. I find them far too constricting. I tie the robe securely and then I angrily haul open my bedroom door and stalk down the stairs towards the front door. The knocking has not let up at all, not even for a second. Rat-a-tat. Thump. Rat-a-tat. Thump. An infuriating beat.
I’m so pissed off that I don’t even bother to look through the peephole first. I throw open the door, ready to give whoever the hell it is a piece of my fucking mind.
My breath hitches in my throat as I see him standing there. The same guy who’s been the star of every erotic dream I’ve enjoyed in the last week. His back is to me and I watch him wave to a limo. The limo takes off and he just stands there waving, swaying and stumbling to maintain his footing. Oh, he’s smashed. Wonderful.
“Dan!” I snap.
He spins around unsteadily and a huge smile lights up his face as he sees me. God, that smile really affects me. I push it down and focus on my anger.
“What the hell are you doing here at three in the morning, asshole?” I fume, my nostrils flaring and threatening to spew forth fire and burn the cocky bastard to a crisp on my doorstep.
His eyes flick down my body, resting on my thighs. Before I can react, he grabs the hem of my robe. “Are you naked under here?” he asks, his voice husky, his gaze locked on the corner of my robe that he’s slowly starting to lift.
I bat his hand away. “Yes. If you must know, I am. I wasn’t expecting some drunk asshole to show up on my doorstep at this time of night.”
“Aww, you missed me, babe,” he slurs back.
The sight of him threatens to melt my resolve. I don’t know what it is about a guy in a leather jacket, but it really does it for me. His silky, silver shirt is only done up at the middle, exposing his rock hard chest. I can see the start of his abs and part of me wants to trail my tongue all over them. And, holy hell, he’s wearing leather pants. They do absolutely nothing to conceal his…package from view. In fact, it’s as if they were made to draw attention to that specific area.
I don’t know how I manage it, but I step back and grab the door. “Go home,” I order, moving to shut it in his arrogant face.
He wedges his foot against the door frame, preventing me from closing it. “I can’t. The driver’s gone.”
“Then call him back. I’m sure a guy like you has people on call twenty-four-seven to do your bidding.”
“Not my driver, babe. He’s J’s.”
Who the hell is J? Must be a friend of his. “Then call a cab.”
He snorts out a laugh. “This is Harlson. There are no cabs. We’re not in the city now, Em.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Em?” he asks, amused.
“Yeah. No nicknames. You don’t know me well enough.”
“It’s not a nickname. It’s a shortening of your name. I let you call me Dan. Same thing. But, now that you mention it, I like the idea of giving you a nickname.” His eyes flick to my hair. It must be a real sight right now, seeing as though I just rolled out of bed. He looks from the porch light to the top of my head. “Angel. Yeah, I was right the first time,” he announces.
What the hell? I can’t be bothered to ask. I’m too pissed to care. I cannot believe he thought it was okay to come here knocking on my door at this time of night, especially when he’s drunk off his ass.
He steps closer, pushing against the door, so that he’s standing half in and half out of my house. “Look, either you let me in, or you drive me home.”
Drive him home? Into the town center? Outside? Shit, no. I can’t do that. I can’t…I can’t go out. I’m not…I’m not…prepared. I can’t just walk out like that. I have to build myself up for that. It can take days to get to that point and to resign myself to the fact that I need to go out to run an errand or something.
I move back and open the door wide. “Fine. Get in here.”
He grins triumphantly and sidles past me into the house. I roll my eyes and lock the door. By the time I turn around, he’s made himself at home on the living room couch.
I stalk over there and glare down at him, my arms folded across my chest. “Why did you come here?” I demand.
“To fuck you,” he says, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, making himself comfortable.
I cannot believe the brash statement that just flew out of his mouth. Who the hell does he think he is? Who the hell does he think I am? Some slut who will spread her legs for an asshole like him who shows up out of the blue like some goddamn booty call? I don’t think so.
“Never going to happen.”
He grins, actually grins. “You want me.”
“I’m not going to be a drunken fuck of yours.”
Infuriated beyond belief, I close the distance between us and pat down his jacket, searching for the thing I know will drive my point home to him. He laughs. “A little more aggressive than I was expecting, but I can work with this.”
I feel his hands on my thighs suddenly.
“Mmm…so soft,” he says, sliding higher, underneath my robe.
I shake my head. “Dan, don’t.”
“Sure that’s what you want, babe?” he asks, starting to rub my thighs up and down in a sensual, slow rhythm.
He groans as he reaches the apex of my thighs.
I bite my lip, trying to get a grip and summon the strength to break his spell on me.
“Yeah, you like my hands on you, don’t you, Emma?”
I shake my head.
“Oh, you do, angel. Just a little scared, aren’t you? But the truth is, you light up so fucking bright whenever I touch you.” His hands slide around to my ass and he groans with appreciation and then pulls me closer to him. “You want me to take this further. You want me to push you, because you know I can make you feel so fucking good.” He cups my pussy in his hand and then starts tracing feather-light circles over my clit. “You’re dripping for me, wanting my fingers, my tongue and my hard cock to own this sweet body of yours, Emma.”
I try to move back, but he holds fast. “Dan,” I protest weakly.
“Admit it. You want me to make you come, don’t you, Emma? Right here, right now.”
“I…no,” I choke out. I step back quickly. “Where’s your phone?” I demand, trying to hide how much he’s getting to me. Shit. He almost had me there. Stay in control here.
He struggles to his feet and points at the bulge in the right side pocket of his leather pants. He cocks an eyebrow in challenge. “Feel free, babe,” he says holding his hands out to his sides.
Argh! Bastard! “Give it to me.”
He shakes his head. “You want it, come and get it.”
“Are you a teenager now?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Well, you’re acting like a high-school kid right now.”
A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe you should set me straight, make me feel like a man, angel.”
I roll my eyes. “Keep your hands where they are.”
He chuckles, but does as he’s told while I reach into his pocket and retrieve his cell phone as quickly as possible. I’m more worried about me right now, rather than him. I’m so turned on. He smel
ls too good. Sandalwood mixed with soap, a whiff of cigarette smoke and the most enticing scent of cologne I’ve ever smelled in my life. God, right now I wish I wasn’t a smoker, or that smell alone would have won out over all else and turned me off. But, as it is, it’s something we have in common. Shit. Why can’t I catch a break with this guy?
“Fellatio,” he says suddenly.
“Excuse me?”
“My password.”
“Seriously?”
He just shrugs his shoulders.
“God, you are a fucking teenager,” I mutter as I enter the password and start scrolling through his contact list. It’s not long before I see what I suspected I would. Several entries that will do nicely to prove my point to him that nothing is ever gonna happen between us.
Brunette—good head.
Coatroom girl.
Hot blonde receptionist at accountant’s.
Mini-dress from Hell’s Hound.
I reel off the entries to him and he bursts out laughing. “It’s all jokes, angel. No need to get upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I snap, harshly. Am I upset? Crap. I quickly pull myself together and tell him, “My point is that you have plenty of women at your beck and call. You don’t need me. So forget about it and the next time you want a quick fuck, you call them. You don’t show up here. You got me?”
He stares at me for a while, his expression unreadable.
I push his phone into his hand. “I’m just glad you don’t have my number in there,” I mutter as an afterthought.
“I do.”
“What?”
“I left you mine. Figured I should have yours.”
“Left me yours?”
“I wrote it on the back of the business card I left on your table. My personal cell.”
“How did you get my number?”