“We had sex.”
Kristin fans herself with her napkin as she pretends to pass out in her chair. “Lawwwd, have mercy. When?”
“A couple weeks ago.”
“And we’re just now hearing about it?”
I don’t mistake the sharp clip in her voice.
“You should have called an emergency get-together. This calls for a celebration.”
Jill is jumping to happy conclusions as expected. It’s her way.
“Don’t pull out the balloons and penis party favors just yet.”
Kristin’s nose wrinkles. “It was bad sex?”
“No. It was fantastic—literally, the best ever—but there were problems afterward.”
Jill’s face drops. “What kind of problems?”
“I like it a little rough. Or moderately rough.” I have to keep this vague.
“Who doesn’t? I love having my ass smacked and my hair pulled.”
I’m not at all surprised to hear that from Kristin. She fits the part. But both of those things are in a different league from what I asked Oliver to do.
“It had been so long. I guess I was a little overzealous.”
Kristin giggles. “I think zealous is understandable.”
Not according to Oliver Thorn.
“Oliver had a violent childhood. He was abused by his birth parents, so he had a hard time with the idea of being assertive with me. It didn’t go well.”
Jill grabs the bottle of wine and refills everyone’s glass. “Aww, that’s too bad. Maybe you could try getting some drinks down him so he’ll loosen up.”
Wow. That’s a little out of character for Jill to suggest something like that.
“We’d had drinks, quite a few beers, and he was still very adamant about the whole thing. I don’t think alcohol could have swayed his stance about it.”
“Bor-ing.” Kristin takes a drink of wine. “Your first sexual encounter in years is with a stick-in-the-mud. That’s tragic.”
I feel the need to defend Oliver. “It wasn’t like that. It was really good.”
“Yeah… until it wasn’t.”
Okay. Kristin is sort of pissing me off.
“Are you ready to give up on this guy?”
Per usual, Jill is the one who’s going to try to talk it out and solve the problem.
I shake my head. “No.”
I want Oliver.
“Then go back to square one. Warm him up to the idea of rough play. Start slow. Use baby steps.”
Jill’s right. I can now clearly see that asking him to choke me the first time we’re together might have been a little much for someone who has never done anything like that.
“You’re right. Oliver needs to be eased into it.” And that’s what I think about as we finish the next two bottles of wine: all the ways I can condition Oliver into being the bedroom alpha I need and want. That is if he still wants me. It’s been two weeks. He’s probably moved on by now.
Kristin stretches out on the sofa and kicks me in the thigh with her foot. “You should go over there. To your neighbor’s house.”
“You’re drunk-talking.”
She giggles. “I may be drunk but I know what I’m talking about.”
I’m drunk too, but not so much that I can’t rationalize. “Let’s say I go over there. Then what? Throw myself at him and say spank me, please?”
“No. You pique his interest. Dangle the carrot.”
I look over at the clock. “It’s almost midnight.”
“So?”
“He’ll think I’m nuts.”
“Not nuts. Horny? Probably. Which might not be a bad thing.”
“Don’t you think it’ll be painfully obvious what I’m doing?”
“Do you really care if it gets him back into bed with you?”
Seeing him again scares the shit out of me. “We’re having girl time. I can’t believe y’all are trying to talk me into going next door for dick.”
“You won’t be going over there to get dick tonight. You’ll be laying the foundation for getting dick later.”
I can tell this conversation is about to get real. “I assume my vagina is the carrot so how do I dangle it?”
“Oh God. You two are killing me.”
I’m happy to see Jill laughing. She does far too little of that.
“The first thing you’re going to do is change out of those leggings and tunic into something sexy.”
I’m going to change into something sexy before I go over to his house at midnight. “Don’t you think that’ll be obvious?”
“Who gives a fuck if it gets the two of you naked together again? That’s what you want, right?”
She has a point.
“Well, yeah.” I want Oliver but I’m not going over there looking stupid, even if I have had a whole bottle of wine. I’m not that drunk. Yet.
“We need a reason,” Jill says.
I’ve got it. “He left his motorcycle wrench by the pool today.”
“Yesss, a man needs his wrench. Perfect excuse to go over there.”
I don’t know. Despite the alcohol, I can still see that expression on his face from two weeks ago. The one that told me he was disgusted by my kink. And it shakes any liquid courage the wine may have given me.
“Maybe it’s not the best idea to go over there after I’ve been drinking.”
Jill holds up her glass of wine. “No. The best idea would be for you to have another two glasses and then go.”
Kristin opens our last bottle of pinot grigio and tops off my glass. “Bottoms up, bitch.”
I’m not completely hammered but this glass is going to be the one that shoves me over the edge.
“Get your ass up. You’re changing out of those fat clothes and putting on something sexy.”
I follow them to my bedroom and sit on the bed as they go through my wardrobe. Within minutes, it looks like my closet puked all over my room and I’m wearing a spaghetti strap sundress. No bra.
“Inconspicuous but easy access to the carrot, just in case.”
The just in case sends chills over my body. “Not so sure about the inconspicuous theory.”
Jill pushes another glass of wine my way. “Finish this off so you don’t chicken out.”
“Another glass or not, I’m considering backing out.”
“No, you’re not. This is the first promising relationship since your breakup with Martin. You’re doing this.”
My breakup. Right.
Jill taps the bottom of my wine glass. “Drink.”
When I see the bottom of the glass, there’s no denying it. I’ve crossed the fence. Fallen over it, actually. I’m tanked. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
My girls walk me to the patio door and Jill holds out the wrench. “You’re hot. Sexy. Confident. He wants you.”
Kristin pushes up on my boobs from the bottom. “Rub your nipples so he can see them through your dress.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Come on, Addie. Do it. Guys love it when they’re hard.”
I recall the special attention Oliver gave to my breasts, so I reach into my dress and pinch my nipples, pulling on them so they’ll elongate. “Better?”
“Oh yeah. He’ll like that.”
“Okay. I’ve got this. I’ve got this. Tell me again I’ve got this.”
“You’ve got this, Addie.”
Jill and Kris are standing at the door when I look back. “Go, ho.”
Fuck. I’m not getting out of this.
My mind and head spin as I cross from my property to Oliver’s. None of the lights are on but I think I see the flash of the television in the living room window.
Even intoxicated, I know I’m a dumbass for doing this. It’s juvenile. I’m acting like a twenty-seven-year-old teenager.
I ring the bell and come up with at least one dozen reasons I should haul ass before he comes to the door and sees me sloshed—in this dress, with erect nipples, on his doorstep. I consider it hard, but I’m
afraid I’ll face-plant in the front yard. And that would suck so much worse.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. No Oliver. Maybe he isn’t home. After all, it’s Saturday night. He’s probably out on a date or some shit like that.
I turn to leave and Oliver opens his front door. He looks at me, puzzled, through squinted eyes. “Max?” His voice is raw and scratchy.
Shit. I woke him.
“Umm—”
“What are you doing?”
“Umm—”
His hair is unruly, reminding me of a faux hawk gone wrong. He’s shirtless and I can’t take my greedy eyes from his muscular, tattooed chest. I want to lick it. Bite his nipples again. And that damn V at his waist disappearing into those thin athletic shorts. I want to lick it too.
Fuck. He looks amazing.
I want him.
I step closer and grasp the back of his neck with my free hand. I press my mouth to his with the intention of possessing it. And he lets me.
His tongue is soft. Wet. Alluring. Everything I remember.
I came to entice him. Dangle the carrot and walk away. But it’s he who holds the power to seduce me.
Oliver cups his hand around the side of my face. “Max.”
He says my name and I panic as memories of the this-isn’t-going-to-work-for-me incident flashes in my head. I’m terrified to hear what comes after my name so I step away and hold out his tool.
“You left your wrench at my house. I thought I’d bring it to you. That’s why I’m here… this time of night… because I have nothing better to do.”
He chuckles and I want to die because that is likely the lamest damn thing I’ve ever said to someone. “Thanks. I’m sure I would have been looking for this tomorrow.”
“You’re welcome.” I want to run. Get away now.
I’m halfway down the sidewalk when he calls out to me. “Max.”
I stop before I consider doing otherwise and turn at the sound of my name. “Hmm?”
“You look beautiful… this time of night… when you have nothing better to do.”
Fuck. Me.
My carrot may be working on this jackrabbit after all.
11
Oliver Thorn
I didn’t eat breakfast when I got up. After her late-night visit, I anticipated a Sunday brunch invitation from Adelyn. But it didn’t come.
I’ve spent all morning thinking about last night’s kiss. It has to mean that all isn’t forsaken between us. Surely, it means she’s coming around. Maybe. Hopefully. And yet I sit here without a word from her today. Not a call. Not a text. Nada.
But that kiss. Fuck, it was hot.
There are two cars parked in her drive this morning. At least two people stayed overnight. One of them could have been a man in her bed last night. Maybe a man who would happily give her all the kink she desires and things I told her that I couldn’t give her.
I picture some asshole putting his hands on her. Holding her down. Pulling her hair. Grasping her throat. Fucking her pussy. Maybe even her ass. Plus, all the other kinky shit I discovered during my research. My blood fucking boils as I consider the possibility of some other man doing those things to her.
Does she want to be treated like a princess in public and a whore in the bedroom?
I’ve looked out my kitchen window at least a dozen times this morning trying to see what’s going on at Adelyn’s house. Trying to at least catch a glimpse of who’s there. Not knowing is killing me.
But caring is killing me more.
I hear what I believe is a splash and girly squeal, but not a panicked version like the one about the snake yesterday. It’s more of a fun-like yelp.
I take the stairs two at a time and peek through my guest bedroom window since it provides a view into Adelyn’s backyard and pool. I stand there waiting to catch a glimpse of Adelyn’s guests.
I’m fucking pathetic for doing this.
I’m pleased when I see one bikini. Then two. And finally a third. She had girlfriends over last night. She wasn’t in a chokehold getting fucked by some alpha asshole.
I’m slightly disgusted by my relief and sudden lift in mood.
Given that Adelyn is tied up for the time being, I might as well do something instead of sitting around by myself thinking about how badly I wish I could see her.
I call Porter first. “Hey, dipshit. Want to come over and watch the game later?”
“I’ve got nothing better to do, so sure.”
It’s Sunday and he’s not MIA for the first time in weeks. I’m not sure what that means. “Game starts at six. Lawry said she was working on some kind of furniture-refinishing project with a friend today so I’m gonna see if Lucas wants to come too. I’ll ask him to try sweet-talking my sister into sending food.” Hopefully, guacamole.
“Please, because you can’t cook for shit.”
“Like you can.”
“I’m not as bad as you.”
“No longer the case. I’ve been getting lessons.”
“Who the fuck from? Ronald McDonald?”
“Adelyn’s taught me some stuff. I know how to make homemade pizza.” Well, maybe I could if I had the recipe for her crust. Which I don’t.
“I’ll believe that shit after I see it.”
“Okay. You’re on. Homemade pizza tonight. Got a Benjamin that says you’ll eat the fuck out of it.”
“You’re on, fucker. I’ll bring chips and dip so we’ll have something to eat after you fail.”
“On.”
I know I don’t have bread flour. Or yeast. Or that special salt she used. I’m definitely making a grocery store run, but I don’t want to forget anything.
Oliver: Can you give me a list of the ingredients for the pizza crust?
Oliver: And the sauces.
Oliver: Hell, I need the entire recipe with all the steps. For everything.
That’s going to be a lot of typing. She’s swimming. She probably doesn’t want to stop to fuck with me about a recipe.
Oliver: I know you’re busy w/ your friends. Maybe send me a pic of the recipe?
Dammit. She’s going to wonder how I know she’s busy with her friends.
Adelyn: No biggie. Just hanging by the pool. The list is pretty long so I’ll be over in a min.
Fuck. She’s coming over. I get to see her.
I don’t hate that.
Oliver: Great. Thanks.
As promised, Adelyn is knocking on my kitchen’s French door in no time. “It’s open.”
Oh hell. She’s wearing a thin white cover-up over my favorite black bikini. It’s wet so there are two damp circles over her chest, leaving very little to my imagination about what’s underneath. But of course, I’ve been lucky to see everything underneath. Touch it. Squeeze it. Suck it into my mouth. I don’t have to use my imagination.
“Hey. What’s up?” Her voice is soft. Her cheeks red. Her expression sheepish. I think she’s embarrassed about last night but she shouldn’t be. I’m happy she came over. I’m happy she tasted like wine; I think it’s what made her brave enough to kiss me.
“I’m having Porter and Lucas over tonight to watch the game. I thought I might show off my new ability to make homemade pizza except I don’t know how without a recipe.”
“Got a notepad and pen I can use?”
I pull out the kitchen drawer where I keep stuff like that. My junk drawer. “Yup.”
She spreads her right arm on the counter and bends over so her left hand is wrapped around the notepad, writing on it from the top. “You’re left-handed.”
“Mmm… hmm.”
All the time we’ve spent together and I’m just now catching that.
She’s bent over my kitchen counter writing the recipe. Is she doing that to me on purpose? If she is or not, I don’t deny myself the view of looking at her perfectly outlined ass peeking through her wet cover-up.
All I’d have to do is ease down her bikini bottom and I could be buried deep inside her in a few seconds.
&n
bsp; “Get Bob’s Red Mill unbleached enriched artisan bread flour. It comes in a purple bag. Costs a little more but it makes the best crust.” She turns to look at me and catches me staring at her ass. “What brand did I say?”
She knows I was ogling. Not listening. “Purple Mill.”
“No. It’s Bob’s Red Mill unbleached enriched artisan bread flour. Purple bag.” She lifts a brow. “Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She goes back to writing the recipe on the notepad and my eyes return to roaming her body. They leave her ass and hesitate at her neck. So many thoughts cluster in my head.
Could I hold her down by the throat?
Own her?
Control her?
Two weeks ago, I thought no. Not just no. Fuck no. I wanted no part of that shit.
But today I feel differently.
I’ve had a little time to absorb the shock of it, but I still don’t think I can choke her. It’s too violent. Brings back too many shitty memories. But could we try a subtler version of what she wants? Needs? Could she bend a little if I did as well? And together we try to find a way for me to satisfy her needs while not exceeding my boundaries?
“It’s your first solo go at a pizza crust so call me if you have problems or questions. I don’t mind coming over if you need help.”
Fuck. I wish I could get her back over here after our friends leave. “Don’t be surprised if you hear from me.”
“That’ll be okay.”
My eyes follow her neck to the curve of her shoulder. “You’re red.”
“Shocker.” She lifts her shoulder and pushes away the top of her cover-up and strap of her bikini to survey her skin. I’d love to keep pulling it down.
“Hell yeah, look at that. We’ve only been out for an hour, and I’m already burning. With sunscreen.”
“It doesn’t look too bad right now but be careful.”
I was severely burned as a child. I still remember how painful it was and how much Jimmy laughed about it. He told Lawry and me that we were little idiots for playing outside in the sun all day.
Neighbor Girl (Southern Girl Series Book 2) Page 11