Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

by Kat T. Masen

  Wesley positions his body against mine, allowing me to warm up. My body—now accustomed to his body temperature—begins to relax as he cups my face and draws me in, kissing me deeply. I hate that he can do this to me—make everything go away with a simple kiss—and how my body reacts first, not my heart or my head.

  “You’re so delicious when you’re angry.” He bites my lower lip between my gasps.

  “When was I angry…” I can barely say the words, my whole body ready to combust on the spot.

  “You’re always angry with me. That’s why I can’t stop thinking about you… naked… here… ready for me.”

  He lifts me onto the counter, moving the food away so he can lay me down. Spreading my legs apart, he watches as my panties are in full view, eyeing them with such desire. He remains quiet, leaning in between my legs and running his nose along the outside of the fabric, my moans echoing loudly in the large kitchen from the anticipation.

  “We shouldn’t do this here,” I plead, though unconvincingly.

  Wesley’s eyes remain fixated on mine, cursing me with a satisfied grin. He loves to control us—everything from the moment we kiss until the second we finish.

  I watch with anticipation and a galloping heartbeat, his head lowering down and settling between my legs. My panties are parted, his fist is clutching them as the tip of his tongue touches my swollen clit. My back arches against the marble, the tips of my fingers gripping the edge for support.

  He knows he’s damn good, sticking his tongue in between my creases at a delightful pace. I’m close. Desperate not to give in so early, but that fire in my belly, the one making my head spin, demands that I succumb to the raging orgasm about to take over.

  Then—boom.

  My body collapses against the countertop with my breaths short and quick. I want to laugh, scream, and tie myself to this man for the rest of my life.

  The sound of metal clinks against the concrete floors. I try to pull myself up, but Wesley is pinning me down, sliding himself in me. No questions, no words, his mouth against mine roughly as he thrusts deep into me, trapping my screams amongst his kisses.

  His need to make love so raw yet intimate makes me fall for him even harder. I grab onto his hair, running my hands through it and using them to guide his lips to mine, wanting him more and more to the point that I’m willing to sacrifice everything for this moment.

  His taste is erotically charged—a mixture of desperation and dominance—two very different things yet everything that turns me on when he’s inside me.

  A loud grunt barrels through him as our bodies disconnect, the cool air falling onto my heated skin as he finishes himself on my thigh. Both of us are out of breath, unable to talk as we gulp for air, our chests rising and falling from the intensity of this moment.

  He extends his hand, arms flexing and doing that nice thing with his biceps that make them look sexy. Great, you’re getting all turned on again.

  “Hungry?”

  “Famished,” I tell him as he wipes down my thigh with a tea towel. “Oh, really. Did you have to use that?”

  “It’s not like I haven’t…” He purposely cuts himself off, distracting me by handing me a bottle of wine. “How about you head outside, and I’ll finish cooking in here?”

  I pretend it doesn’t hurt, knowing that other women have been where I have been. With my confidence in shatters and my silence portraying my humiliation, the cold, hard reality is that this could be a regular occurrence for him.

  Keeping my opinion at bay, I make my way outside and stand by the pool’s edge, admiring the view as I did the first night here. What a completely different world I find myself in. I wonder what stronger force brought me here.

  How did I end up in a relationship with a man who’s so beautiful inside and out yet so damaged at the same time?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he says softly from the edge of the room. Wesley steps outside, placing a dish on the table. He slides a chair out and gestures for me to sit, placing a napkin on my lap then leaning in to kiss my lips. “That I do this for all women.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that.” I’m not a great liar, though I am happy he doesn’t push me to answer that question again. The warm air caresses my skin, giving me a moment to calm down and try my best to enjoy this moment. He’s gone to all this effort, and my insecurity needs to take a massive raincheck and stop horning in on my quality time with Wesley.

  “It’s so beautiful out here. You know, back home, you don’t see lights like that.”

  “What do you see?”

  I stare into the sky, remembering what it felt like to be home again. I lose myself, smiling as if this is back home. “Mountains, water… nature.”

  “You miss it, don’t you?”

  I nod, hiding my sadness with a smile. “This meal looks amazing.”

  “Spicy, so watch out. A housekeeper I grew up with taught me how to cook it.” He takes a bite, following through with some wine. “So, you have questions…”

  I swallow my food and drink the wine, almost in one go, not expecting him to be so forthcoming.

  “I can’t think. I don’t know, Wesley. I just don’t know you.”

  He pours more wine into my glass then his, taking another drink before clearing his throat. Another drink, and I will be passed out on the floor. I need to pace myself to get through the questions he wants me to ask.

  “I was born in Kansas, a small town, but we lived there until I was about four. I don’t remember much, not even my dad.”

  “Your dad lives in Kansas?”

  “He did when he was alive.”

  I reach out to touch his hand, mindful that it must be difficult for him to open up to me. His expression remains fixed, barely asserting an emotion that will tell me how he feels about this happening.

  “How did he, um—”

  “He fell out of a tree, broke his neck, then went into cardiac arrest.”

  A gasp escapes me, and quickly, I cover my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Why? I didn’t know him. Just stuff my mother tells me.”

  “The tree, on your chest, is that the tree?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbles, less enthused.

  I don’t understand why he would ink something on his skin, such a powerful image yet he has no recollection of his father nor does it seem like he cares.

  “Why? I mean, what made you ink that image?”

  “Because I want a reminder of how different life would be if he were here. How whatever fucked-up thing I’m going through, it didn’t have to be this way. That fate played a cruel part in my life.”

  It’s obvious to me that whatever stuff he’s supposedly dealing with is largely influenced by his outlook. In ways, he’s a sadist looking for his next problem rather than a solution.

  “And your bridge tattoo, the one of the Golden Gate?”

  He smiles this time. “My favorite place. My best memories. Husband number two, Leonard, raised me for a few years there.”

  “You lived in San Francisco?”

  “We did, for about two years when I was ten. Most of the time we lived out here, you know, because that’s where the fame is at, and we all know what Gina is after in a husband.”

  Back home, this kind of behavior is unheard of. Most people are still married aside from my mama and dad, though that was the talk of the town for a long time, according to Mama. I was oblivious to those whispers, busy growing up and enjoying my childhood. It’s only when my dad returned that it all went pear-shaped.

  “I know she doesn’t have the best reputation. She was nice when I met her.”

  “She’s nice to everyone… to their face. Trust me, Gina has her ulterior motives.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean?” He laughs at my question, rather darkly. “It means that Gina cares for Gina… and whatever man is paying for her lifestyle. Gina doesn’t care for her son, nor what happens to him when she’s away, and husband uses Gina’s so
n as a punching bag.”

  My heart descends from my chest into my stomach, aching for the little boy who was forced to deal with such violence at a young age. It explains his disrespect for his mother, his need to control the environment he’s in, and his careless attitude toward his life.

  “Wesley, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. You’re not the one who purposely went away on trips with your girlfriends because it was easier than facing your husband and son.”

  He tears into a piece of chicken, though as much as he can laugh off this serious matter, his mannerisms reflect pain.

  “Is that how you got the scar on your chin?”

  “This?” He runs his fingers along the bottom of his chin. “Nah, this was me being high and trying to jump off a cliff.”

  I’m left without any words. Suicide, or attempted suicide, is something I’m uncomfortable talking about. I can’t understand the mindset of being in that headspace.

  How can someone be in such a dark place, and not understand how their death will affect their loved ones? But Wesley is different.

  It makes sense, he doesn’t consider having loved ones. At least, not Gina.

  “Why did we go to the party if you can’t stand your mother?”

  He shrugs his shoulders, leaning back into the chair and lighting a cigarette.

  “Just to fuck with her head. I like her to think I care, and she gets all happy then I fuck her over.”

  My pity converts to being absolutely stunned. How awful that Wesley feels the need to hurt his mother. I can never imagine hurting Mama like that. When she’s in pain, I feel it too. Sometimes more so.

  “I can see your judgment,” he says, puffing out smoke. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re just like Em in that way.”

  I bow my head slowly while staring at the food. It bothers me more that he compares me to Emerson than it does him admitting he enjoys hurting his mother. I don’t know why it bugs me so much. Liam has an ex, this girl who lives only a few streets away. It never bothered me. We would talk when we ran into each other, and she was really lovely.

  His intrigued stare continues to linger. “You seem to go quiet every time I mention Em.”

  “I don’t know, it’s just that you guys had something very special to be engaged to each other. It’s a big commitment, and well, it’s kinda hard sitting on this side of the table being the assistant to your ex-fiancée.”

  “We did have something. And I still love Em but not in the way you think.”

  The words hurt.

  I swallow the lump in my throat, desperate to escape this conversation. The food—appetizing moments ago—has lost its appeal, and I’m suddenly not hungry at all.

  He lights up another smoke, taking a drag before throwing the packet down.

  “I hate that you smoke,” I say out loud, angrily.

  His eyes go wide with curiosity. He removes the cigarette from his mouth and puts in out on the ground. The packet of smokes in his pocket, he takes out and throws into the pool. I watch it float on top of the water, soaking until it begins to sink, slightly.

  “There, happy?”

  “Don’t do it for me. Do it for your health,” I argue back.

  “I can never make you happy,” he raises his voice in frustration. “Honestly, Milana. What do I need to do for you to stop being so unhappy when you’re with me?”

  “I just don’t know you!” I shout, in my defense. “You’re nothing like Liam—”

  “No, I’m not,” he states, slamming his fist on the table which makes the cutlery jump. “I proposed to Em because the producers told me I had to do it, for the ratings. Yes, I did love her, but I hurt her. We both fell into that reality world and have that connection. I do still love her, always will, but not in the way I feel about—” He cuts himself off with a blazing stare before continuing, “I did cheat on her, and that’s my fault. I’ve done bad things. I don’t know why. And I’ll probably continue to do bad things. Maybe there’s no hope for me… I don’t know. Or maybe my savior is the person sitting right in front of me.”

  It’s a powerful thing to be called a savior, a title that holds so much meaning yet something that frightens me. I have my own problems, my own worries. I’m not here to fix Wesley Rich. I’m here to forget I have my own issues to deal with.

  “We should do something fun,” I blurt out, smiling as I look directly at him.

  “This is not fun?” He appears slightly offended and thrown off by my change of tone.

  “It’s fun… but I’m thinking something wild.”

  “Wild?”

  I remove my dress with a cheeky grin, watching as Wesley gazes with curiosity. Dressed in only my white bra and panties, I’m quick to remove those pieces, baring my body for him.

  “I could think of many things that involve you being naked and the word wild,” he teases, leaning back into his chair, running his eyes up and down my body.

  “Try and catch me.” I giggle, running from the table and diving into the pool.

  The cold water graces my skin, a quick shock to the system as I hold my breath under the water before coming back up. I’ve always wanted to swim naked, secretly, in my fantasies. I’d never done it. And this rush—the one throwing all caution to the wind and living for just this moment—is everything I need right now.

  As I take a few breaths, the water rocks with such force as Wesley dives in straight after me causing the waves to build. The shadow of his body is underwater until he comes up right in front of me. Unable to stop the squeal that comes out of me, I struggle to release myself from the ticklish behavior of his hands under the water.

  “Stop.” I laugh uncontrollably, squirming around beneath his touch. “I’m ticklish.”

  Wesley stops, standing calmly. “You never tell a tickler you’re ticklish.”

  My laughter dwindles to a smile.

  “I forfeit.” I raise my hands in the air. “You’ve got me. You’ve won.”

  “Have I?”

  “Yes, I just told you that you won.”

  “Do I have you… all of you?” he questions, almost a plea.

  The hazel of his eyes is staring back at me, deep and meaningful waiting for me to answer this question. We’re dating—that’s it. I don’t want to confess to him that in only the short time I have been with him, he has made me feel more alive than I have ever felt in my entire life. Every moment we spend together makes me fall harder, and that part, I want to keep to myself.

  “Wesley…” I lower my tone, resting my hand on his chest. “You’re something.”

  “Something? Like something awful? Bad?”

  “Terrifying,” I slip, my guard falling to pieces. “I don’t know how to stop—”

  “Stop what?”

  “You.”

  “Why does it have to stop?”

  I try to pull away, though he’s quick to drag me back into him. “I’m a realist. I have my life, and you have yours.”

  He lets go, much to my disappointment. “And what if my life is you? Then what?”

  Never have I expected to hear these words from Wesley Rich. The same Wesley Rich who drove me crazy the moment I met him.

  The sound of the wind rustling the trees hides the silence between us. I want him. All of him, and admitting that is so hard I almost cry to myself.

  “My life is my brother, my mom, my best friend back home,” I choke, dropping my gaze to the water and watching the calming blue to distract myself from getting upset.

  His hand wraps around my waist, and slowly, he lifts my chin so our eyes meet.

  “What about me? I’m the only one here, now, maybe forever.”

  My eyes close, my lips touching Wesley’s in a long, deep kiss. Our bodies wrap around each other in the water as Wesley moves us slowly toward the edge while our lips remain locked.

  His wet hair is smooth as I run my hands through it, moaning softly as our tongues battle feverishly on this warm summer’s night. Our bodies
are like magnets, drawn to each other, a force so strong that neither of us has any control.

  Wesley Rich is an addiction, and I just can’t stop.

  Underwater, his knees bump against mine, forcing my legs apart. I gasp, holding in my breath as he enters me, keeping his pace nice and slow. Extending my arms back, I place my hands on the edge of the pool for support, riding him with my body half out of the water.

  With my body a light weight beneath the water, Wesley wraps his hand around my waist, thrusting himself into me and freeing his other hand to tug on my nipples as they come out of the water.

  “God,” he whispers, out of breath. “You’re so fucking sexy when you’re innocent. I bet you’ve thought about this. Fucking a man like me in a pool.”

  My head falls back, exposing my neck as I allow my body to experience this pleasurable moment. My hips buckle forward, grinding against him and demanding he go in deeper. When my eyes begin to flutter, the kiss of his lips between my breasts sparks a violent finish as my orgasm rips through me.

  “Yes,” I cry, my body possessed in the moment. “You… I want you… forever.”

  The high begins to come down yet remains steady as he slams into me and shouts a string of profanities that echo in the dark night.

  “Fuck.” He breathes in and out, holding me tight and still inside me. “You’re amazing.”

  Two simple words that comfort me.

  “Let’s go to bed,” I suggest, easing myself off.

  He leans in, kissing me softly. “I have you all night.”

  “Yes.” I smile.

  ***

  Wesley’s sheets are cotton, Egyptian thread count of some number that Mama once told me only the rich experience. Inside his embrace, I feel safe.

  “What happened with the girls… who almost drowned?” I whisper in the dark, my head resting on his chest.

  He doesn’t answer immediately, his sigh loud in the dead quiet of his bedroom. “We met these girls at some producer’s party. They were groupies, the typical girls who latch onto us everywhere we go. I have the bad habit of ordering rounds of drinks for people, but I didn’t know the bartender had slipped something in their champagne, and well… you know what happens.”