You have got to be kidding me. That son of a bitch! He has a girlfriend?! He attacked me like a wild tiger in heat and then continued to fiddle with my aching emotions, and that fucktard has a girlfriend?!
Oh HELL no!
Let’s go back to my cartoon issue, because right now my head is going to explode like a Looney Toon. I can’t believe I fell for his lines. I can’t believe I considered talking myself out of staying clear of that whole house and its resident. I throw myself out of my car and stomp up my porch stairs. I jam my key into the lock and twist it to the left. The lock doesn’t budge so I jam it again. On the third try, I succeed in getting it all the way open, only to snap the key off into the lock. Who’s shocked here? Certainly not me.
After calling Brendan’s Locksmith to come fix the lock, I throw my stuff inside the house and make a straight dash for the kitchen. Anything I said about not drinking has gone straight out the window. Only a rich merlot is going to fix anything that went wrong today and I plan on dousing everything with it. I take my overflowing wine glass and fall into my overpriced suede couch. If I did anything right while drinking, it was picking out furniture. This may be the most comfy piece of furniture I’ve ever owned. It had better be, because I (or should I say Jeff) paid a whopping 3,500 dollars for it.
I sit and sip my wine. Well, sip for me—gulp for the average folk.. What a total jerk. I can’t believe I was about to fall for all his bullshit. After everything I have been through with Jeff and his “I’m in love” crap, I’m so mad I fell for, yet again, more bullshit! I'm starting to seriously hate men. And it has nothing to do with my overindulgence in Lifetime marathons.
I try and focus on something other than the neighbor. I ponder why May has been so distant lately. I get that she’s tired and feels comfortable with me running the bakery, but that’s her baby. It’s not like her to be so distant. I worry there’s something else going on. I don’t think the shop is in trouble. I see the revenue and the bakery is actually doing better than it ever has.
For some strange reason, my thoughts turn to Jeff. I wonder if he stops to think about what he did to me and if he ever feels guilty. I can’t hate him for not loving me, because let’s be honest, I think we were both in the same boat there. But to be dishonest and cheat in front of my face after all we’ve been through? It’s just disappointing.
By the time I have touched on everything negative I can conjure up, my mood is more in the toilet than when I sat down and I realize I’ve finished my whole glass of wine. As I get up, there’s a knock at the door. For a silly second, I hope it might be the neighbor, but then I remember I hate him. Anyway, I know it’s probably just Brendan Jr. coming to save me from my broken lock.
I make it to the door and open it on Brendan Jr. who’s smiling kindly back at me.
“Hey, Brendan, thanks for coming so late. I'm sorry to have bothered you.” I step aside to let him in and he sets his tool-bag on the inside mat.
“Oh, its okay, Ms. Westcott. I had to come out this way, anyway. My girlfriend lives in the next neighborhood over so it all works out.”
“Oh, that’s great, Brendan. I really appreciate it. Do you want anything to drink?”
“No, I’m okay, but thank you. I’ll just fix your lock and be on my way.”
“Okay, sounds good. I will be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
“Sure thing. Thanks, Ms. Westcott.”
I turn my back to Brendan and make my way into the kitchen. I head straight toward the wine and give myself a refill. I need to make myself some dinner but I’m so tired and mad that cooking doesn’t even sound appealing to me. I am never against a liquid dinner, so bypassing solids it is. I grab my glass and the bottle and head toward the back room where my workshop is. This is my secret safe haven. It’s where I keep all the plans for my future business. I can sit back here for hours and create recipes and invent the perfect blend of ingredients to formulate the perfect dessert. I sit down in my office chair and swivel around while I look at all my drawings and layouts. I slam the rest of my wine and refill again.
One day. That’s the key. “Focus on the prize, Westcott,” I coach myself. I don’t need any distractions, including a certain bastard neighbor.
Chapter 8
Wednesday, to no surprise, goes off the same. The neighbor’s car is gone and I leave for work, pathetically disappointed I didn’t have a run-in with him. Not like it would have been a pleasant one since I want to rip both his heads off.
May’s, as usual, is crazy busy all day. When I return home, there’s still no sign of the neighbor and it doesn’t help my mood that I see Blondie’s bobble-head bouncing out of his house again. Apparently my neighbor has a healthy appetite and young blondes are on the menu. As Blondie makes it to her car, she sees me and waves before she gets in. She waves! I want to get out and pummel her face in, but I have no idea why. I couldn’t care less. He’s just the neighbor, with no ties to me. He’s just someone who is residing in the she-devil’s house. Hopefully he will get sick of this boring neighborhood and find somewhere else to live. I get out of my car and viciously pull my purse out from the passenger side. It doesn’t comply at first and I tug at it again. Just as Blondie drives away, I do a final tug and it pulls free, sending me backwards into the grass. On my way down, my heel gets caught in a crack that Jeff was supposed to fix eons ago and it snaps off.
I hate everybody.
Thursday rolls around with no sign of the neighbor. I receive two voice messages from Jeff which go unheard. Not to disappoint, at the same time and the same place, I face off with bobbling Blondie. To top it off, I burn a cake. I, Priscilla Westcott, burned a cake. I hate this week.
By the time Friday makes it here, I am a ball of fire. I let Katie go home early and shut the shop an hour before normal closing time. I have not heard from May most of the week aside from basic texts, and if she has a problem with it, she can show her face at HER shop and do something about it. I make it home and actually don’t see Blondie’s car in the driveway. Yeah right. She’s probably parked in back and he’s most likely got her railed up against his Jeep, ravishing her like the slut he is.
Ugh, shut this down, Westcott.
I get into my house and throw my bag on the couch. I see the answering machine flashing; it’s Jeff again, yapping about a bunch of charges on his Visa that is almost maxed out. Yeah right, Buddy. That’s not happening.
I decide tonight is not going to be a cooking night and I order pizza. It’s getting late and I have no interest in anything culinary. I go to my infamous cabinet and pick out a 1989 Pinot Noir vintage from California. My favorite. One benefit of being with Jeff was that he had great hook-ups through his firm; in return for his work, they signed us up for a lifetime wine club membership from two of the best wineries. If I’m being honest, I might have actually cried if Jeff’s final parting words were, “I’m canceling the wine club membership.” I shake it off. God, what a scary thought.
I finish bottle number one and crack open number two. It’s Friday and definitely a drinking competition night; competitor numero uno is right here.
I grab my newly opened bottle and the pizza menu and sit outside on my front porch swing. I pour a hefty glass and stare at the menu. I decide to order a large pizza, extra meat. Nothing like a bunch of fat and calories to make a woman feel better.
I’m sitting on my swing waiting for Jake’s Pizza to deliver my food when I see headlights turn in next door. Once the house’s floodlights go on, I see the Jeep.
He’s home.
With narrowed eyes I watch him climb out of his Jeep. He looks over in my direction. Once he spots me on the porch, he shuts his door and walks toward me.
Oh shit.
I think I might be too drunk to fight this battle. I debate running inside and locking my door, but that would take effort and I might miss my pizza delivery. The neighbor walks up my porch steps and leans against the railing in front of me.
“Hey,” he says in that stu
pid seductive voice of his. I just nod in return. I am biting my tongue so hard. If he doesn’t leave, he’s going to see blood dripping out of my mouth. He looks at me, and then eyes the carton of eggs sitting next to me. “What’s with the eggs?” he asks. I just shrug again. “You go mute on me all of a sudden?”
“No, just have nothing to say to you,” says my five-year-old self.
“Oookay. How was your week, then? Can you answer a simple question like that?”
“Why do you care, neighbor?”
He’s got a WTF expression on now. Apparently he doesn’t know I’m on to him and his little bobble-headed pretty girlfriend.
“Cause I just asked you, and I don’t normally ask questions I don’t want to hear the answer to. And I DO believe you know my name. You should use it sometime.”
“Wow! Now that’s a concept. Why don’t you just piss off? Maybe you can spend time asking your girlfriend how her week was instead.” Ugh, I have diarrhea of the mouth. Why did I just say that?
“Excuse me?” he asks, his facial expression a bit hard but also confused. “Not really sure I got the memo, Sweetcheeks, but last I checked I didn’t have a girlfriend. Wanna clear this up for me?”
“I know about Blondie. I see her leaving your place. Better hurry up and get off my porch before she shows up and sees you with me. She might suspect something. Get the wrong idea,” I finish.
Perfect opportunity to chug the rest of my wine. Hoping he gets the hint and realizes I’m not down with players, I bend down to grab my bottle; a refill is definitely in order. But before I can reach my wine, I am scooped straight out of my swing, carried to the house, and pressed against the doorframe. The neighbor has my back against the door and guides my traitorous legs upward; they wrap willingly around his waist. When he speaks, he is so close I can feel his breath grazing my face.
“You talking about Stacey, Sweetcheeks?” he asks, swipes a piece of loose hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. Wow. This guy is a piece! Not even trying to deny it! Just casually spills out her name like she’s an everyday household appliance.
“Yeah, you know, your girlfriend. Better put me down before she catches you being the player you are,” I say, spitting out attitude all over the place. Right as I finish my lashing, he starts to laugh. Can you believe it? Laughs!
“I’m not sure what you think is so funny. Now put me down.”
“Oh, Sweetcheeks, I sure as hell think this is funny.” He takes his unshaven face and nuzzles it into my neck. I can hear him smelling my skin and brushing his nose alongside my chin.
“See, I’ve had a shit week, right? So I finally make it home and the first thing I think about is how my sweet and fierce little neighbor is doing. Been thinkin’ about her all damn week. Like I said, been a shit week. Looking forward to when my job wraps up and I come home, hoping I can get another play at that sweet mouth of hers. Can’t stop thinkin about it.” He pauses to spread a few soft kisses down my chin and along my lips. When he finishes his hot tongue tease, he begins to speak again, his voice super low and dripping with sex.
“So, here I am. Home finally, getting a taste of exactly what I’ve been missin’ all week. Her fake anger and that sexy smart mouth I’ve been cravin’. First thing my neighbor spits out is jealousy of my dog watcher.”
My defense mode automatically goes into overdrive. I am completely ready for battle. Unfortunately, by the time he is done with his sentence, I feel myself choke on my words as they tumble out of my mouth.
“I am NOT jealous of your dog watch— Wait, what?”
“You heard me, Sweetcheeks. Dog watcher. Stacey. She’s my partner’s daughter. Had to take a job that pulled me out of town for a couple of days so I needed someone to take care of Jake while I was gone.”
“Jake?” I ask foolishly.
“Yeah, babe, Jake. My dog. If I knew my sweet and fierce neighbor was so jealous about other women coming in and out of my house, I would have just asked her to watch him,” he finishes and now is actively sucking on my neck. I can’t even respond to this because I’ve lost all power to think or whatever it is people do when they form coherent sentences. The pressure he is using while he glides his tongue up and down my sensitive skin is sending me to a place where words and sentences are a foreign concept. The only sound that leaves my mouth is a moan.
“That’s right, baby. Just what I was thinking.”
My control breaks and I lift my head from the door. My arms, which at some point wrapped themselves around his neck, are now bracing his face as I turn feral and slam my mouth onto his. God, his mouth is like a drug. His lips shoot sparks down my legs and I am pretty sure he can make me climax just by the way he is sucking on my tongue.
“Shit, you taste so sweet,” he says as he pushes my body further into the doorframe.
“It’s not me,” I pant. “It’s the 1989 Pinot Noir. It’s from France.”
He chuckles. “No, baby, it’s your mouth. The same way I remember it. Sweet and giving.” God, if he compliments me one more time, I’m going to cream in my pants (or skirt, in this case). He presses into me again and his crazy hard erection hits right at my clitoral region. I’m not sure if what comes out of my mouth next is a sexy moan or a throaty groan.
“God, you’re sexy, CeCe.”
Okay. Game over.
I thought he was seriously going to kill me with his mouth before, but the second my name slips off his tongue, I am officially done for. I’m going to jump the gun here and say this might be a bad move, but something down below—it’s called my libido—thinks this is going to be the greatest idea since sliced bread. So, of course, my brain shuts off and my body starts doing all the talking.
“Open the door.”
He’s a man, so of course he doesn’t need to be told twice. He wraps his muscular arm around my ass, holding me up while he uses his other to open the door. It swings open and we stumble in. He makes it past the threshold and kicks it shut. Immediately, he turns and presses my body against the cold wood, while never letting go of my mouth. Anyone who can do that is a number-one talent in my book.
He releases my mouth and descends down my chin, grazing his tongue and teeth along my neck. He keeps grinding into me and if he continues on this path, I’m going to hit home before I’m even up to bat. His tongue is doing magical things to me, leaving tingling sensations every place he touches. It’s as if he is tattooing his mark on my skin. I feel like I’m high on lust or wine; either way, I’m so turned on I almost explode at his next request.
“Do I have permission to explore, CeCe?”
Oh God, yes! I want to scream out. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had such a crazy, wild, possible sex-against-a-wall experience. If anything is going to come out of my mouth, it’s going to be the open invitation to do whatever the hell he wants with me.
“If you have to think about that any longer, I’m going to go with no.”
“God yes, explore away,” I say—or rather, pant.
My answer is met with a strong squeeze of my ass. “God, your skin is so soft.” His deep voice vibrates into the lining of my collarbone. “Just like I remembered it.” At that, he grabs at my tank top, pushing it up my stomach and sucking on my nipple through my bra. I throw my head back and bash it against the doorframe. I don’t feel a goddamn thing but the pressure of his mouth on my very hard nipple. I grab my hands and run them through his thick dark hair, taking chunks and squeezing. This does something to him; he groans into my chest and begins his assault on my other breast.
I’m not one to be all dramatic during any sort of sexual encounter, but at this moment I have the desire to whip my head back and forth, screaming for more. The feeling is so intense and he’s only made it to second base. Thankfully, reading my thoughts, he pulls away to catch my mouth in a swift and brutal kiss. Our tongues lash out at one another, fighting to get the upper hand. Both of us are in such dire need of the other. He grinds into me again, and on cue, we simultaneously moan.<
br />
“Shit, you are too sweet.” He takes a hand away from my butt cheek and reaches up my skirt. I can feel his searing fingers making their way past my thigh and brushing alongside my thong. I feel his fingers wrap around my thong, and in seconds, I hear the rip of fabric. So hot.
“Tell me what you want, CeCe,” he breathes into my neck.
I am so turned-on; how wet I am between my thighs makes it apparent what I want. His fingers begin to brush along my nub and it sets me on fire.
“God, Ce, you are so fucking wet right now.”
“Inside,” I hear someone say. Wait. I think that was me.
“Is this what you want, sweet CeCe?” he asks, and then plunges two fingers inside me.
“Oh fuck yes.” The voice that is talking doesn’t even sound like my own. I am completely lost at his mercy. His fingers are working me slowly but roughly, and I’m not sure how much longer I can last. Every time he pushes his fingers in, he grinds himself into me. I am most definitely panting and I may have become possessed because my head continues to whip back and forth.
“How far do you want this to go, CeCe?”
He’s asking me about sex. The real deal. The thing I have been fantasizing about doing with him all flipping week long. I may be on the fast train to regret come morning, but for the love of all that’s holy, I am 100% down for what I am about to agree to.
“I want you inside me. Like five minutes ago.”
“Oh, thank fuck.” He slams his lips onto mine and ravishes my mouth, kissing me relentlessly while pushing my skirt up my thighs. He pushes down his jeans and kicks them off. I hear the sound of a wrapper tearing and he adjusts me so he can, I assume, put a condom on. All this action without breaking the kiss; it should be considered an art form. I feel him push me harder against the wall. He positions himself right at my center and I can feel his thick erection ready to invade my sopping wet entrance.
“You ready, baby?”
“Oh God yes, Trent, do it.”
Life Next Door (Love Not Included Series Book 2) Page 5