by Kat T. Masen
“Bad?”
“Yes,” I pant.
“And I’m nothing like you’ve ever had.”
“Yes,” I repeat, running my hands through his hair.
The warmth of his lips leaves mine, his body now distant with a bitter smile. “I thought you were different.”
The loss of contact leaves me uneasy. It takes me a moment to respond. “What kind of a question is that?”
“It’s not a question,” he responds, flatly.
Adjusting my dress that hitched up during our heated kiss, I straighten my posture, trying to get a hold of myself. “Maybe I should go.”
“I thought you were different.”
“What does that even mean? Different from who? Okay, so I love to read and would rather spend my night playing Monopoly. This isn’t my scene tonight. So, I’m different, who cares? The world needs different. Not everyone can be like you and Emerson.” The words come out harsh, not at all as I intended. I’m frustrated we’re even having this conversation when a minute earlier I was caught up in the best make-out session I’ve ever had.
“Do you think you’re the first girl who’s called me bad and told me I’m like no other man you’ve been with?”
“No…” I trail off, pausing. “But it’s the truth. You’re bad… for me. Every part of me says not to be with you. You will hurt me, and I’ll end up with a broken heart and have to move back home because I can’t deal with the shame. You’re not like any man I’ve been with. The last four years I’ve spent with Liam. Liam’s caring. He’s kind. He doesn’t have a bad bone in his body.”
“And I’m none of those things,” he answers, smugly. “I don’t fucking care about anyone, right?”
“What do you want me to say?” I throw my hands up with frustration. “I can’t seem to win. If you want the truth, this is it. You’re not Liam. You’re Wesley. The guy who’s gotten on my nerves and crawled under my skin. The same guy I haven’t stopped thinking about every day since that day in the café. The same guy I’ve fantasized being with not because he’s bad but because he does something to me, this butterfly sick-to-the-stomach feeling. The thought of your hands all over me makes me want to throw all caution to the wind and live for this moment.”
“I’m right here,” he whispers, closing the gap between us.
“I know you are.”
The tip of his finger runs down my cheekbone and across my bottom lip. My eyes close—focusing on my internal sensations—controlling my breathing while his gentle touch consumes me. With a slight tilt, his mouth has found mine, the warm feeling and taste of desire find me again.
This slow, sensual pace heightens all my senses until he pushes me against the wall, slamming our bodies together, his tongue feverishly battling with mine.
I pull away to catch a quick breath, gulping for air as if my life depends on it.
“You’re bad for me.” His face is buried in my chest, kissing my skin eagerly. “Too innocent.”
“A little innocence never hurt anyone.” I latch onto his shirt, pulling him up so I can taste his lips again. “Good girls can turn bad, too.”
“No,” he breathes with a silent plea in his tone. “Your innocence is sexy. In fact, a fucking turn-on.”
I grin, touching his cheek softly. “Oh really?”
“Shhh, stop talking. I need to fuck you now.”
I’m falling for him.
Into this blissful moment as his hands wander across my body, each part he hasn’t touched is begging to be noticed.
The wall is sticky, and my dress gets caught against the rough edge. I don’t care. I want him—here and now.
His palms slide under my dress, against my thighs with a slow, burning ache. My body reacts to him, grinding against his hardness and dry-humping him between our clothes, which suddenly become a nuisance.
I fumble with his buttons, wanting to expose his chest and run my hands against his skin. Though the lighting is reduced, the desire in his eyes burns through me as I spread apart his shirt and admire the view. He’s just like I imagined—ripped, muscles in all the right places, and so very manly.
There are several tattoos on his chest, but I can barely make out the images.
My hands move of their own accord, against his chest, circling his nipple as he moans softly into the air. I’ve never experienced this type of lust, the need to have my way with him like a fantasy has come alive.
The grip of his hands is tight against my ass. Small, yet forceful squeezes until he lifts me, and my legs wrap around his waist for support.
“You’re so goddamn sexy when you’re begging for it.”
I grab his belt buckle that begins to dig into me, unbuckling it quickly and unzipping his pants. Balancing against the wall, fumbling for his pants and losing myself in his ravenous kisses becomes exhausting.
“I’m not the one begging for it…” I pant, so out of breath, my throat’s dry, “… you are.”
Wesley laughs into my mouth while a grin forms on my tired face from this game we play.
“Is that so?”
I pull his hair, detaching his mouth from mine to give him a nod. The more we play this game, the more turned on I become. I feel him everywhere. I want him everywhere on me.
He rests his forehead against mine, breathing onto my face as we both take a moment to catch ourselves.
“I don’t think you’ve ever had a taste of something as Rich. Don’t think for a second that bad boy means you’ll be left unsatisfied… quite the contrary. I can guarantee you that afterward, baby… you’ll continue begging for more.”
My eyes lock onto his, desperate for him to enter me. As we take this moment to stare at each other, his reflection is precisely how I imagined he would be—wild, uncensored, and uncaring of what else is happening outside the world of us.
Keeping his gaze fixed on mine, he runs his hand along my chest, sliding into my dress and cupping my breast. I’m holding in a breath, stopping myself from finishing all because of his touch. When I think I’ve got myself under control, he narrows his grip into a pinch and squeezes my nipple.
The agony, and yet pleasure, spread through me, my back arching from this delightful pain.
“Are you ready?” he whispers into my ear as his tongue runs along my lobe.
“For you, yes. I’ve been waiting for too long.”
His hands wander down, and I hear the zipper of his pants. My eyes close, for how long I’m unsure, allowing myself to feel this moment. I sense him move my panties, his fingers brushing against my clit as my breathing becomes erratic.
What’s he doing to me? Liam never felt like this.
Okay, shit. This is not the time to think about Liam. This is the moment I need to think about Wesley. Stop getting lost in a sea of thoughts.
My panties are shifted completely aside, soaked from my arousal which turns Wesley on. He murmurs something about how wet I am, but I’m lost and can barely climb out of this abyss I’m falling into.
The sound of foil tearing distracts me momentarily. I’m grateful he’s smart enough to think about protection since I’m so obviously not. That’s right, your horny ass would have ridden him bareback. That would have been a stupid, stupid, mistake.
Slowly, he enters me, my body tightening, and unbeknown to me, I wince slightly in pain.
“Are you okay?” He kisses my mouth, not allowing me to answer the question.
He’s bigger than usual, not in length but girth. I take a moment to wiggle my hips, positioning him, so our bodies are in sync.
“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m ready.”
Being ready doesn’t just mean this moment, though. I’m ready for all of him. I know that his words are set in stone.
After this moment, I will be begging for more.
I will become addicted to the pleasure.
Addicted to the pain.
Addicted to Bad Boy Rich.
I motion my hips, rocking back and forth, watching him struggle as sweat beads fo
rm on his forehead. Wesley’s eyes are shut tight, and his face is clenching as he tries to control himself.
I love watching him, seeing what I’m doing to him, watching the veins in his neck pop out while he drives into me slow and steady, in and out, a pattern that starts a tide of tingles to spread across my entire body until I beg him through moans to enter me harder.
He growls at my pleas, pounding me harder, the heat stifling between us until I begin to dissolve on the spot, riding the wave of pleasure that consumes me and makes my vision blurred.
I’m oblivious that he grips onto my ass tightly, slamming hard one more time before he lets out a groan, pulsating and twitching while burying his head into my neck.
Our heavy breathing echoes in the still of the night.
He withdraws from me. My legs are shaking uncontrollably and relying on him for support. I hold onto his shoulder as he removes the rubber and looks around, unsure of how to discard it.
“Here, give it to me.”
He laughs. “Really? What exactly do you plan to do with it?”
“Uh… toss it into my purse so as not to traumatize the kids who come through here tomorrow.” I take it off him, grabbing some tissues in my purse and wrapping them around it before placing it inside. “Wait, what do you think I’m going to do with it?”
“Hey, I don’t know. You could play the innocent card but be as kinky as fuck.”
“True. Wait till you see what I can do with some ping pong balls and a banana,” I joke. “Round two… your place?”
He leans in to kiss me, unable to hide his grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter Seventeen
My eyes open in a state of panic with my body following moments later.
Sunlight peeps through the drapes, forcing me to squint, which only makes my head pound harder. Lifting my arm to shield myself from the God-awful sunlight, I yelp as my muscles ache, making it barely possible to do so.
“Why are you up?”
The voice—unfamiliar at first—registers when his hand runs down my back, then around my front, cupping my breast. They’re sore. Everything is painful.
Scattered around are several empty packets of rubbers.
Shit. How many times did we have sex last night?
Wesley yanks me toward him, and as I fall back onto the bed, my head knocks into his hard chest.
“What time is it?”
“Time for me to fuck you,” he teases, turning me around, so we’re spooning.
He doesn’t warn me, entering me whole. I gasp, in pain, again, and thankfully, he moves slow, breathing on my skin which causes me to shiver with delight.
I extend my arm, reaching back and around his head, exposing my chest. His body tenses, followed by a few quick breaths, until he begins to thrust into me again.
“You’re insatiable,” I cry, moaning straight after. “I have to go… I’ll be late for work.”
“You’ll go… when I’m finished.” Refusing to listen, he seizes my breast with his hand, tugging on my nipple with force. “And… I’m not finished.”
“Wesley,” I moan, consciously looking at the time and knowing I only have two hours until I have to meet Emerson at the studio. Also, factoring in that I still have to rush home, shower, and change.
He makes it impossible for me to think about anything else but him, touching every part of me that aches from last night. I know he’s close. Hell, I’m close, and just when I think he will come inside me, and the panic of him not wearing a condom is a cold, harsh reality, he pulls himself out and kneels beside me.
In the daylight, I see all of him—extremely fit torso with tattoos inked across his breastbone. I want to ask him about them, discover the meaning behind the design. But now isn’t the moment, not when the obvious is pointing right at me.
His cock is perfect.
I don’t know if there’s such a thing as a perfect cock, but if there is, I’m staring right at it. Obviously, hard, perfect color, perfect shape, and a perfect size.
My God, Milana, stop obsessing. This is so not you.
With a handful of my long hair, he guides himself into my mouth, moaning each time the tip of his cock passes my lips. He tastes so good, covered in my juices which only arouses me more. He bites hard on his bottom lip before belting out a loud groan as the warm liquid shoots into the back of my throat.
Crap, I’ve never swallowed before.
I have no idea what to do.
Hurry. Think!
He hands me a tissue with a satisfied grin on his face.
So, I take it, mid-swallow.
Shit! Too late.
I’ve just popped my cum-swallowing cherry and by accident too. “I really have to go,” I strain, barely able to speak.
Wesley moves toward my legs, positioning himself in between them. “I’m not finished.”
“But you came. In my mouth…” I softy laugh. “I really need to go.”
He pushes my thighs apart, causing me to yelp, running his tongue around my clit. “I said, I’m not finished.”
My head falls back into the pillow, defeated, but with a massive smile on my face.
When it comes to Wesley Rich, it’s impossible to say no.
***
My fingers cramp as I struggle to capture all the key points Emerson’s telling us.
“There’s Kimmel tomorrow night. Thankfully, local.” She signs a document while talking, handing it over to me. “Interviews lined up with some magazines in New York, which means I need a few outfits for the city since I heard a cold snap is about to hit the East Coast.”
Aurora, Emerson’s stylist, points to her iPad with an enthusiastic smile, her red-framed glasses matching her shade of lipstick. Unlike Sonia, Aurora is great to work with. She has this sense of style, lives and breathes fashion, and is half-Korean like me.
“Burgundy is sooo in right now. I’d love to see you in a burgundy cashmere coat coupled with some black patent boots,” she sings with excitement, hugging her iPad.
“I’ll leave it with you.” Emerson laughs. “Then the week after next, we have Vancouver. Are you all right to join me on that trip along with New York?”
“Of course,” I tell her, guilt flooding me that I’m lying to her about Wesley.
I know there’s a time and place to admit the truth, and now is not that time.
Although Wesley and I agree to be in a relationship, we’ve barely spoken about anything aside from our exchange of words during sex. I’d be lying if I don’t admit that what I read online piques my curiosity or that woman from last night. After meeting his mother, Gina, I don’t quite understand the dynamic of their relationship. Again, questions linger and need some sort of answer.
And then there’s the possibility that our relationship will leak out to the public. So far, paparazzi haven’t followed me anywhere. Wesley has warned me how cunning they can be and to always be on guard for many of the things that come attached to the name Wesley Rich.
Emerson continues to tell us about a few more events, meetings, and upcoming trips she has planned for the next few months. I take a sip of my coffee, welcoming the warm liquid while waiting impatiently for it to kick in and give me that much-needed boost.
Last night took it all out of me. So far, during this meeting, I’ve been able to manage somehow to hold in every single yawn. I have no doubt I will sleep like a baby tonight and welcome the solace to gain some perspective on the last twenty-four hours.
The day drags on and every minute becomes harder to get through. Emerson has a ton of energy today, bouncing ideas and demanding some input. It’s great, I shouldn’t complain, but the exhaustion becomes too much, and by the time we call it a day I want to cry with relief.
“Oh, one more thing,” she says while grabbing her keys. “I have a meeting with Wesley tomorrow. I would prefer it if you don’t mention anything to Logan. It’s best I keep it on the down-low.”
Suddenly, my exhaustion disappears, and I’m alert as
anything. “Why… I mean, you don’t have to go. I know you’re busy and all. Let me do this. I can take care of it… it’s why you pay me the big bucks.”
Emerson’s lips curl up in a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have thrown Wesley onto you in the first place. He’s my mess, and besides, I just want to talk to him about a few private things.”
Logan’s warning echoes in my head, but more notably my unbeknown jealousy even louder.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Logan might get angry.”
“I can deal with Logan. I’m more worried about Wesley,” she tells me, obviously hiding something.
“I mean, I’m just saying as a friend more than your assistant, I’m here. Don’t feel like you’re burdening me.”
She places her hand on mine in an attempt to calm my anxiety. “Milana, I got this. Relax.”
I have no words left without giving away my take on Emerson and Wesley being alone together.
I don’t like it.
The thought makes me ill.
I’ve been his girlfriend for two seconds, and somehow that’s turning me into this jealous beast. Women back home would often make advances at Liam while he worked on their cars, and I barely batted a damn eyelash.
But this, this is something else.
We say our goodbyes, and the second I’m alone in the car, I read through the messages from Wesley.
Wesley: Miss me yet?
Wesley: I can still smell you on my fingers.
Wesley: Ready for round 3? Wait… or maybe it’s round 10?
I smile, unthinkingly, unable to contain the small amount of joy that creeps in when I read the texts. Though halfway through a text I’m writing—encouraging his flirty behavior—my conversation with Emerson comes back to me like a tsunami reminding me of this so-called ‘meeting’ tomorrow.
Resting my head against the driver’s seat, I close my eyes for a brief moment. The conversation between Phoebe and me replays in my head, over and over. We rarely argue. Only over petty things like the time she borrowed my favorite sweater and claimed the underarm pulled before I lent it to her. Or the time she made me watch a midnight session of one of those Twilight movies only for me to fall asleep in the first scene.