Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

by Kat T. Masen

  “But it’s my best friend and my sister.”

  She nods, eyes wide goading some sort of reaction from me.

  “My best friend and my sister,” I repeat.

  She nods again, remaining quiet.

  “I don’t understand... how long? When? The questions pour out as my mind is unable to comprehend such an absurd thing.

  They hate each other.

  This must be a joke.

  “Ashley.” Poppy calms her voice while unfolding her arms and placing her hands flat on her lap. “This is a good thing.”

  “No, it’s not,” I say adamantly, pulling my pants up and walking away from the sofa, pacing back and forth. “Logan is a bastard. He treats women like yesterday’s trash. He takes what he wants and that’s it. God, I can’t even... and to top it off Emmy hates him. She’s always hated him. This won’t last, or work. They’ll just screw each other over then I’m left in the middle. Nothing will ever be the same after this.”

  “Let them be. You never know, Ashley, this could be the real deal for them.”

  “The real deal?” I laugh, ridiculing her. “This will never work. Jesus! I can’t fucking believe this. All the lies.... how did I not fucking see this coming? And Logan bailing on our most important training session and risking our game so he could fly over and fuck my sister! What’s with that?”

  “Calm down,” she begs of me. “You’ve gone mad. Can you hear yourself? They’re a good fit, the two of them. Let them sort out their relationship without you being a factor.”

  “You don’t get it, it’s always been the three of us. And if they do work out then what? What about me? I’ll be left behind.”

  Poppy walks over to where I’m standing, stretching on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around my neck.

  “You’ve got me, you silly twat.”

  I can’t hide the smile that appears unwillingly. “Your British name-calling is very distracting. So are your tits.”

  “Well, they feel neglected because your pecker’s getting all the action.”

  I bury my head in her neck, thankful I have her.

  I never expected this eccentric, gorgeous woman to come into my life and just complete me. She is a mirror of me, understands me better than I understand myself sometimes. A scary thought since we’ve only been in each other’s life for a week.

  She was everything I needed that night when Alessandra left.

  Some could say it was rebound, but I wasn’t rebounding from Alessandra. I didn’t love her like she needed to be loved. I wasn’t husband material and our living together proved that. I felt relief when Alessandra wanted out—she brought the giant elephant into the room that night and finally set it free.

  “I fucking love you, woman.” I laugh, slapping her ass causing her to squeal in delight.

  “Oh, bollocks, I give good head.”

  “Yes,” I agree with a smirk. “Fucking good head.”

  “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “As crazy as you.”

  She lets out a sigh and stares into my eyes. I love the way her eyes twinkle when she smiles, switching between green and blue depending which way you look at her.

  “I don’t care what happens between us. I have fun when I’m with you. I don’t want that to stop.”

  “Why does it have to?”

  “You know...” she trails off. “Feelings and stuff get in the way.”

  I cup her chin again, bringing her face into mine until my lips are planted on her sexy mouth.

  “So, let it.”

  With an infectious grin, she kisses me back deeply which switches me into aroused mode. Pulling back, her stare is full of lust and follows with her falling to her knees again.

  We celebrate the moment with what Poppy does best—an excellent blow job.

  When she’s finished and I’m sitting on cloud nine, she reluctantly leaves the apartment to fly back home, but not before asking me for the millionth time if I’m okay.

  I tell her I am in the end, simply to shut her up.

  But I’m not.

  How can I be?

  Alone, in the dark, my head begins to conjure up things. Things that won’t go down well if Logan shows his face anywhere near me. He lied, he betrayed my trust, and he stole my sister ready to use her like he does every woman who enters his life.

  He shouldn’t have messed with me.

  I know every dirty little secret of his, everything but this.

  And now I need answers.

  I pick up my cell and dial his number—voicemail.

  My rage intensifies with every missed call until finally, an hour later, his name appears on my screen.

  I clutch at my cell with the tightest of grip, watching the color drain from my hand until it’s almost all white. I do my best to control my ill feelings toward him, but the second I answer and the call connects, I lash out at the one man I’ve trusted my life with.

  Logan fucking Carrington—my ex-brother.

  LOGAN CARRINGTON

  “Should George be eating that cracker?” I yell into the bedroom while watching George with one eye as he devours a cracker in the corner of the kitchen. I know he doesn’t like to be watched it’s another quirky habit of his that baffles me.

  Inside the bedroom, Emmy’s sitting on our bed reading.

  “Can you not scream that in front of George? It’s diet doggy crackers. Ever since you hit the scene, George has put on a few pounds.”

  “A few?” I laugh. “The dog can’t fit through the doggy door. Last night, I had to save him from an embarrassing failure as he tried to pass through it.”

  “You’re not helping his ego right now,” she complains, pouting her lips looking all cute and shit.

  I grab the remote from the nightstand and climb into bed. I love the sheets are warm and that inside the bed is this sexy woman who belongs to me—my fiancée.

  She’s engrossed in reading, wearing her new glasses which she complains make her look like a grandma. I think she looks like a hot librarian—a virgin at that—one who’s never had her clothes ripped off by any man.

  “Are you still reading Abbi’s manuscript?”

  Emmy nods, barely acknowledging me.

  “And?”

  She places it down, annoyed at my interruption. “It’s so good. I haven’t put it down since I began two hours ago. Except for now, because you’re needy and crave attention.”

  I bury myself into her side, sliding my hand into my favorite spot—the crevice just beneath her tits. Her scent is intoxicating, and I feel myself becoming instantly hard. “I am needy,” I tell her, rubbing myself against her hip. “I need you on all fours and your ass in my face... now.”

  She smacks me with the manuscript, bruising my ego only. I pull away and lie on my back. My head’s against the soft pillow, so I switch the television on until she yanks the remote out of my hands and switches it off.

  “I’m ready.” There’s a nervous smile on her face and a sudden burst of energy. Odd, coming from a distracted woman who was busy reading only moments ago.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.” She removes her tank exposing her tits. Fuck, they’re so fucking perfect I could cry. Seriously—tit heaven. “Oh, and I have something special.”

  “A swing?”

  “No.”

  “Anal beads?”

  “No…” she hesitates. “But I guess you could use it in my ass if you want.”

  She removes something from under the bed and places it in front of me. It’s a black box. I open it and find a vibrator inside. It’s blue with pink polka dots all over it.

  “Apparently, it has multiple speed settings and can get you off in less than a minute. Plus, it’s pretty, don’t you think?” she rambles on.

  I can hear the anxious tone in her voice. Something isn’t quite right, and rather than lead with my dick, I watch her with curiosity. She’s on her knees, topless with her eyes wide staring back at me. The corner of her lip is trapped beneath
her bite while she twists the end of her hair around her finger almost fidgeting.

  “I can get you off in less than a minute,” I remind her, gazing longingly at her chest. “And your nipples are hard.”

  “Yeah, they’re sensitive.”

  “You’re hiding something.”

  She’s quick to open her mouth. “No, I’m not.”

  I know her too well, she’s definitely hiding something. But what? Then, it dawns on me.

  The day of the week. Monday night. The deadliest night of the week.

  “Wow, you think you’re gonna get off so easy?”

  “C’mon, you do this every Monday night, and then I have to deal with sour and jealous Logan.”

  “Funny, you weren’t complaining when you came three times in a row.”

  “No...” she trails off. “But still, why the hell do you watch? Who cares! It’s over with him now. I want no part in this.”

  We have this argument every Monday night. I know she’s already watched the episodes when her producer couriers them over. I don’t know why I can’t stop. It drives me fucking insane having to watch her fool around with Wesley onscreen.

  I don’t want to talk myself out of it, ignoring my raging dick and her half-naked body. With just one press of the remote the television comes on and I stare at the screen waiting.

  Emmy lets out a loud huff, falling back onto the bed and covering her face with a muffled scream. I ignore her overdramatic behavior and spend the next forty minutes with my stomach in knots, bile rising in my throat, and my blood pumping so fucking hard I’m on the verge of a migraine.

  It’s the episode when they went to London. I should seek solace in the fact she’d been fucking me behind his back yet, that doesn’t seem to make it any easier watching them with each other and the way the episodes are edited to make them so united.

  I switch off the television and stare blankly at the black screen.

  “You’re your own worst enemy,” she says stubbornly. “You can either sit there and sulk like you always do, and not talk to me for the rest of the night until you crack because, again, you’re your own worst enemy, or... you can turn around and keep perfectly still, quiet if you want to brood and I’ll just give you a show.”

  It piques my attention, yet I maintain my broody persona because I don’t want to jump the gun so quickly and look like a pussy.

  And speaking of pussies, there’s one staring at me when I turn around.

  She’s lying on the bed, two pillows propped up behind her, so her body is angled perfectly. Her long, lean legs appear even longer in that position. Smooth and irresistible. Her knees are resting against each other, but when she notices she has my undivided attention, she spreads them enough for me to see the full view.

  “I realized when we began our steamy affair you enjoy it when I try new things.”

  My lips remain still, desperately trying to hide my smirk. “Well, you didn’t like anal play.”

  “I didn’t.” She shakes her head. “I think we can both agree that I do now.”

  “You certainly do.” I lick my lips, crawling toward her until I’m close enough to smell her arousal. “So, what’s left?”

  “What did you tell me last week was a fantasy of yours?”

  This is a trick question.

  My male instinct tells me not to answer, yet I do because I have some sort of death wish.

  “A threesome?”

  She snorts. “Two guys and me?”

  “Is that a joke?”

  “Much like your answer.”

  “Fine.” I roll my eyes at her and continue to play this ridiculous game hoping I’d get a ‘happy ending’ soon. “Bondage?”

  “No, but I’m not opposed to it.”

  “Fisting?”

  “Oh, my God!” she yells, wincing. “No.”

  I give up in frustration because her naked body is begging to be fucked.

  “Honestly, do you know how much I say during sex? You’re catching me at a weak moment. I can barely remember my name half the time.”

  “Squirting,” she responds with a satisfied smile. “You told me you wanted to watch me squirt. Now, I can’t make any promises but this bad boy over here is supposed to do the trick.”

  With a wide grin, I lean my head in far enough to rub the tip of my nose against hers. Our lips are inches away from each other.

  “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “Uh-huh,” she says with a straight face until her mouth widens into a smile. “Talk to my vagina because the face don’t wanna hear it.”

  I slap the side of her thigh which causes her to squeal, then straighten my back. My woman is about to give me the show of a lifetime.

  I realize then that she’ll do anything for me, as silly and boundary-pushing as it may be. And so, I will do the same for her.

  Tonight, after all is said and done and I’m completely covered in her juices, I will sign the dotted line on the contract that’s been sitting on our dining table for weeks. A contract that causes this huge divide between us every time we try to discuss it.

  Our own reality television show.

  Eight episodes.

  One season.

  All us—completely raw and unscripted.

  WESLEY RICH

  The words are coming out of her mouth but they don’t make any sense. Farrah continues to talk while standing in front of the mirror—wearing only her pink lace thong—applying fresh red lipstick onto her fake pout.

  “I mean really, Wes, did you honestly not see that Emerson was fucking Logan behind your back?”

  I saw. I watched. I felt completely helpless after my own actions.

  Despite our somewhat turbulent relationship, Emerson had a way of standing her own ground. She got what she wanted indirectly even if I didn’t know it at the time. I had controlled her wild spirit as much as I could over the years, but even then she had a way of making me feel like I had zero control over her.

  And perhaps—that’s why I proposed marriage.

  Yeah, I loved her.

  She was convenient.

  We worked together, and it was either her or some Hollywood bimbo like Farrah who would end up as my wife. At least Emerson was hot and intelligent. She had an annoying family though, who I had planned to get rid of. Distance her from them as much as possible because I couldn’t stand them stealing her attention away from me. That and her brother’s a fucking moron.

  “What do you care anyway, Farrah? You sucked my dick, hell, you even shoved it up that tight ass of yours. Let it fucking go already.”

  The shrill in her laughter is disturbing. “How can you let it go? You got played in front of the whole world!”

  This bitch is riding my tail and it’s time to cut her loose. I don’t need anyone else shoving my failures in my fucking face.

  “You’ve always been jealous of Em. The whole world saw that,” I respond too eagerly.

  Her face remains stiff. Emotionless from the Botox injected into her once-youthful skin. I know she’s threatened by the truth. Finally, it’s enough to shut her up already.

  Moving to the bed, she crawls toward me until she’s straddling my body with her tits against my chest. They’re massive, an eyesore, great for a tit-fuck but not as good as the real deal.

  Not as soft as Emerson’s.

  Don’t torture yourself.

  “Funny, Wes. I was never jealous of Emerson Chase… I just don’t like her. In fact, I despise her. Enough to make sure that big dick of yours got in trouble in Amsterdam.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Let’s just say it was my idea those two whores visited your hotel room, and maybe, it was the network’s idea to break the two of you up. You know, for ratings and all.”

  My memory jogs back as quick as it can to that night.

  Some boys and I had been at the club, drinking hard and hanging with some girls. It was innocent until the last drink when things got blurry and I lost control of my actions. I remembe
r being in the room with these women and on the biggest high ever. Yeah, I’d sniffed coke before but that was years ago. These women came to my room with the goods and I caved. I don’t know why I did.

  “Are you telling me it was a setup?”

  Farrah laughs while caressing my cheek. “Sweetie, Emerson isn’t right for you. So, you fucked two whores? Even if I didn’t send them to your room you would’ve fucked someone else anyway.”

  I never cheated on Emerson. Okay, like when we were first dating I scored some head from some random women, but I hadn’t cheated on her since we moved in together. It was only when I had my suspicions about Logan that I let Farrah fuck me. Purely because she offered and I needed a release.

  “Get off me,” I demand, angry and uncontrolled.

  “Why are you so worked up? The whore moved on to Logan.”

  “Why?” I ask loudly. “Because this would have never have happened if you didn’t fucking get involved. You’re telling me it was a setup and you expect me to fucking act like my whole world didn’t fall apart?”

  I push her off me, her body losing balance as she tumbles off the bed and onto the floor. With a yelp followed by small cries, she manages to stand up examining the bump on her head from hitting the table.

  “You’ll pay for that Wesley Rich.”

  “Fuck off, Farrah.”

  “You’ve got a choice...” she composes herself and fixes her hair with a calm smile planted on her unreadable face, “… you can tell the world that the baby inside me is yours and not Jeffrey Marsh’s or, I can take a snap of this beautiful bruise and share your dark little secret.”

  “What the fuck are you going on about?” I spit out with frustration.

  “That Wesley Rich is an abusive drug addict who tried to hurt me when the cameras aren’t around.”

  “You wouldn’t dare...” I warn her.

  She walks to where I’m standing and wraps her arms around my waist. Her naked torso disturbs me because underneath the plastic lays a cold and bitter heart. One so dark and twisted that nothing else could taint it.

  “Try me, Wesley. When I don’t get what I want, everyone gets hurt.”

  I have no choice—again.

  My life is being dictated by a woman driven by greed, money, and power. Jealous of everything that brings me happiness. Out to destroy anyone in my life who I love.