by Ashley Lyn
Both Tristan and Roger laugh, and I stick my tongue out. “Watch it, girl, you are not too old for me to ground.”
“What are you going to do, send me to my room? I’m living with Tristan. That’s not a punishment, that’s a reward.” I look at Tristan and smile. “And a pleasurable one at that.”
“As much as I love that you’ve found someone to put up with your loopy ass, I don’t need to have your sex life shoved in my face.”
“Ooooh, okay. So all the times I had to walk in on you and Dad boning on the kitchen table? The slide on my swing set? What was that about?”
“You had the worst timing,” she mumbles.
“I was always on time for curfew and usually home early. I learned my lesson senior year, though. I sat in my car down the street until fifteen past curfew, then I came home. Sometimes I would even climb in my window to avoid any possible post-coital cuddling.”
“What is Tristan going to wear to the wedding?”
“Subject change is a wonderful way to tell me I’m right.” I may give her the na-na na-na boo-boo, and I may just do it in my head because my face hurts, and I don’t want to court trouble. “White dress pants and a light blue silk shirt.”
“At least that’s somewhat normal.”
I just roll my eyes and take a sip of water as I try to get comfortable. I may or may not have overdone it on the tacos and cupcakes when we got home.
“Man, my food baby’s kicking back. I need some Pepto!”
“How long until your face clears up? You sort of remind me a Who from Whoville, ya know? The middle of their faces were kind of puffy, and with your cute little nose. You remind me of them.”
“Your face reminds me of Jabba the Hutt’s ass,” I tell her with a straight face.
“Are they always like this?” I hear Tristan ask Roger, who cracks up laughing.
“Mary’s taking it easy on her right now.”
“Did you see that Hummingbird cake I pinned? Looks delish. I bet we could do those for the engagement party. Instead of sheet cake, do them in cupcakes.” Mom and her squirrelly moments. Roger just shakes his head at the rapid switch in conversation.
“That would be cute.” Tapping my chin, I think about what I want to wear to the engagement party. It’s got to be comfy, yet sexy. Something to think about.
“What about the main dish? A caterer, or a restaurant catering?”
“KFC.” She’s looking at me like she did when I was five and had to pee during a soccer game. I squatted behind the goal, did my business, then ran back out on the field.
“Okay, so if you can find a caterer who will cater fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn on the cob, I would be fine with that too.”
I start laughing, and Tristan looks shocked when she just gets up and grabs her purse. “Roger, let’s go. Your daughter is bugging the shit out of me. I can’t pop her upside the head and I can’t ground her, so let’s go.” Roger kisses me on the forehead, and Mom’s picking her nose with her middle finger. Our relationship might seem weird to some, but to me, it’s the best.
“Love you, Momma.” She smiles and spanks Roger on the ass as she follows him out the door. “Love you too, baby.”
Tristan is grinning at me like a loon. I just roll my eyes, but the eye roll turns deadly and my eyes close.
I can almost feel dreamland coming to take me home when I’m picked up. “Sleepy,” I mumble into his chest. I take a sniff, filling my lungs with all that is Tristan.
Snuggled down in bed, sleep finds me quickly. Sweet, blessed sleep.
TRISTAN
She’s adorable, and yet horrifying at the same time. She’s currently sleeping, popped up on a pillow, mouth open, drool running out of the side of her mouth and down her neck. I didn’t even know that someone could drool that much.
The snoring? Good Lord. I think I can feel the snoring vibrating the bed. Until her nose is fixed up and as good as new, we may have to consider alternate sleeping arrangements.
Her shirt is crooked. One boob is where it should be, but the other seems to be having a party. I’m thinking it escaped her bra. Her shorts are rucked up, with one pussy lip hanging out.
I was thoroughly enjoying my time watching her sleep, and then I made a mistake.
I took a picture.
The second the flash goes off and the click sounds, gone is the cute, disheveled sleeping woman, and in its place is Lucifer.
“Delete it now,” she says low, and deadly serious. Both her hands go under her shirt and pull the bottom of her bra out, and her party tit slides back where it should be. She lets the bra go and I hear the snap of the elastic slapping her skin.
She looks ready to commit murder.
I can’t help but smile, and then she bursts into tears.
“My face hurts,” she wails.
Gathering her in my arms, I let her cry and snot all over my shoulder before reaching over and snagging her pain pills and a bottle of water. She takes her pills and I get off the bed to grab the breakfast tray I had on the dresser.
“Eat, baby. I’m going to take a shower.” Kissing her forehead, I get up and start walking to the bathroom.
“Tristan? Can you do me a small favor?” Turning around at her question, the mischievous look on her face has me smiling.
“Can you undress really slowly as you make your way to the bathroom? That would go a long way to, ya know, making me feel better.” She sniffles like a seasoned actress.
I hold up one finger and snag my cell phone, pulling up Jeremiah’s “Fuck You All The Time.” I smile at the confused look on her face. Snagging the breakfast tray, I set it on the end table and get ready to blow her fucking panties off.
BECCA
The second the song bounces out of the speakers and licks my eardrums, my panties get wet.
He hits the dimmer switch, dropping the atmosphere into off the charts sexy. He snags a black flat bill ball cap and pulls it down low on my head. Spinning fast on the balls of his feet, he stops directly in front of me. For a second, nothing happens, then he tilts his head to the side. His bright blue eyes connect with mine, and the mischievous, lusty, flirty look makes my stomach drop to the floor and my pussy fucking weep.
He pulls his gray sweatpants down low, exposing the deep V on either side of his hips. Before I can even get my equilibrium, a new song comes on.
“Pony” by Genuwine.
The ultimate in sexy songs. This is the song that Channing Tatum danced millions of women into multiple explosive orgasms.
His right knee pops out to the side and back in, then the other one. His hands slide down the front of his pants, then around to the back and he spins, pulling just one side down, exposing his ass cheek.
I’m hyperventilating. Or maybe orgasming, I’m not sure at this point.
He spins back around and holy penis, he’s hard. He pulls his sweatpants down a bit more in the front and thrusts his hips. His hard, heavy cock swings back and forth in his sweatpants, making my god damn mouth water.
He jumps a little, and his legs are crossed at the ankles, then pulls the front of his hat down and spins again. Stopping, he looks up and drops his motherfucking pants.
I can’t even. I don’t even try and hide the fact that my hand is in my panties.
He’s down to just his black boxer briefs, literally slithering up the bed.
He does this air hump thing and his gorgeous ass flexes. My fingers bump over my clit and I damn near come right then and there.
He pulls my hand out of my panties as the song changes to Jeremiah’s “Birthday Sex” and sucks my fingers into his mouth. He jumps up off the bed, and to my utter joy, he drops his drawers and takes his cock in hand, using his knees to walk himself closer to me.
He grabs my pants and panties and slides them off, then grabs my ankles and spreads my legs wide. Like a caring, amazing man, he makes sure the pillows on my sides are fine and my ribs aren’t hurting.
“Put your hand back on that pussy,
baby. Let me see you work that fat little clit.”
My finger is on my clit, running softly right down the center, and I gasp at how sensitive I am. I look at him, and he’s laser-focused between my legs.
He’s working his cock, much harder than I would’ve thought comfortable.
“Make yourself come, Becca.” He leans forward and slides one single thick finger in and I detonate.
My fingers are working in hard tight circles as his finger pulls out, and he uses my juices to help work his dick.
Before I even come down from heaven, warmth hits my hand, my tits, and my belly.
I don’t even hear the music, I don’t smell anything, I don’t feel the sheets against my overheated skin. My entire world narrows to a pinhole. Just a small vignette window highlighting the incredible pleasure washing over his features. His head’s thrown back, veins in his forearms popping, sweat dripping down his naked chest.
He’s the absolute perfect vision of a man lost in passion. He flips his hat around backward and smiles at me, and I may or may not whore moan at the flirty fucking smile.
“Okay, Magic Mike, Where the fuck did you learn that?”
“This stays here. You cannot talk about this with anyone.” I nod my head. “Cash used to…dance. Carter and I, we were younger, eighteen and nineteen, when we all met in the service, except for Cash, who was in his early twenties. Every time we went out, he would pull massive amounts of…”
I roll my eyes. “Just say it.”
“Pussy. We would all sit there flabbergasted as he pulled out the dances and dropped panties. So, he taught us.”
“And?”
“And what?” He looks nervous.
“Did you pull massive amounts of pussy? You may not have been fucking anything since you met me, but you had to learn somewhere.”
“Becca.” I smile. I don’t really want to know, but watching him squirm is entertaining.
“I’m kidding,” I say, putting him out of his misery.
“Slide around to the side and we’ll get you in the shower with me.” I get my legs hanging off the sides and he leans in, helping me up and into the bathroom.
I can’t wait to get in the shower. I’m a little squicked out about the cooling fluids on our various parts.
“I love you, Becca.”
“I love you too.”
BECCA
It’s been three agonizing weeks since my house was broken into, where a message was delivered with a broken my nose and bruised ribs. I have officially been moved in with Tristan. You will notice I say been moved in. It was just one day I was surrounded by Tristan’s shit, and the next day all my crap was in the house.
I can’t seem to make myself care, to be honest. The man walks around barely clothed. He cooks, dances like sex in a waterbed, and has a clear glass shower.
My new favorite pastime is sitting in the bathroom, watching him shower. It’s the soap bubbles and muscles that really flip my switch.
I’m in the waiting room at the plastic surgeon’s office. The bruising is mostly gone and the swelling is down.
I’m popping my gum, legs crossed, reading a Cosmo when I hear the most irritating voice ever. “OMG! Like, O-M-G.” I hate when people talk in text slang.
The next person who tells me that they lol’d is getting booted in the poop chute.
“OMG, Rebecca?” I look up slowly because really, when in public and someone recognizes you, it’s a ‘proceed with caution’ situation. “Fucking hell, if it isn’t Star. You look great.” She looks like shit. I’ve never been happier with this development.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. There’s a hint of irritation in her tone, but her face gives nothing away. I mean, there’s no movement whatsoever. I want her to sneeze. People make terrible faces when they sneeze. I want to watch in slow-mo the face of a botoxed woman sneeze.
“Someone broke into my home and punched me. I had to get my nose fixed. What happened to you?”
“I’m just here for a post-op follow up, I had my vagina rejuvenated.”
“No shit. You broke your vagina? Holy crap, how much dick have you had? I didn’t even know you could do that!”
Her jaw drops to the floor. I went to cosmetology school with Star, and she made my life a living hell. The jabs, backhanded comments were bad enough. But it was the times she cornered me in the bathroom and hallways when I was alone that the truly psychotic comments would come out.
“Well, I’m offended.”
“Really, you kind of look like you’re trying to poop out a duck.” The door opens and closes, and we both look to find Tristan walking in. He said he would try and make it, but I didn’t think he would. I’m happy as hell that he did.
“Oh, please, don’t get all in a tither. Like you could really pull someone th…”
He leans down, smiling, and kisses me. It gets so hot and heavy, I worry momentarily that we’ll be arrested.
Star clears her throat, and he completely ignores her. “Who’s the chick?” Tristan asks.
“Cosmetology school. Made my life hell because she was jealous of me, wished she was as sexy as me.”
He smiles and sits down. My man looks sexy in his all-black attire, except instead of a long-sleeved shirt, he has on short-sleeves, showing off his sexy arms. I almost whimper when I look at his black flat bill ball cap. He knows what the damn thing does strange things to me ever since he danced for me with it on. Which is why he wears it all the fucking time.
“What’s wrong with your face?” he asks her.
“Nothing. My face is perfectly smooth.”
“She broke her hooha,” I tell him. “Too much dick.”
“I didn’t break it! It’s fine, I just smoothed it out, and trimmed my labia a bit.”
“So, what now? You look like a manikin or something?”
“Rebecca?” I hear the call from the nurse’s counter.
“It was nice to meet you. Good luck with your broken cunt.” She gasps, and I want to give him a high five. “Next Halloween, let’s take her to the thirteenth floor. I want to see her frozen face in absolute terror.”
I burst out laughing. “I was thinking I want to watch her sneeze in slow-mo.” Heading back to the room, we’re laughing our asses off. However, we don’t exit that way.
“What do you mean you have to leave me here? I took a cab so we could go on our date after this. I didn’t bring cab money for both ways.”
“Cash called, he has eyes on a skip.” He gives me a macho man shrug of indifference that irritates me.
I yank and wiggle, getting my pants back up to where they should be, then adjust my bra and fix my ponytail.
“I’m riding shotgun.” His lips twitch. “Let’s take this asshole down.” This statement does not elicit the response I had hoped for.
“Suspect is armed and dangerous. I’m not taking you, cupcake.”
“I’m armed and fabulous.” Reaching behind me, I pull my gun, that’s in the pancake holster on my lower back.
His eyes Roger Rabbit as I run through a gun check, pulling back the slide and popping the clip.
“I’m a certified sugar coated badass.”
“Your ass stays in the truck.”
“Correction, my beautiful ass stays in the truck.”
He does that sexy lip twitch again, the twitch that’s fucking lethal to my lady bits. I’m sassing and swaggering my way to his truck, delighted that I just won this argument.
My ass gets lit. If he thinks spanking me is some sort of a punishment, he better think again.
“Don’t tease me, baby.”
The promise in his eyes my comment produces has my core clenching, and I resist the urge to hold onto my panties.
TRISTAN
I’m the laughing stock of the team.
“You brought Becca?” Cash laughs.
“She’s agreed to stay in the truck,” I say through clenched teeth.
Cash rolls his eyes. “I’ll believe that when I see it.�
� I’m strapping my Kevlar vest in place when I glance at my truck but wishing I hadn’t. Becca has her face shoved up against the passenger side window of the truck, her nostrils on display, making faces at Carter who’s ignoring her completely and stomping in my direction.
I hold my hand up. “I don’t want to hear it. She bullied her way in here, and did you know your sister is armed?”
“You gave her a gun?”
I shake my head. “She has a concealed carry permit. Whipped out Glock 19 in the parking lot of the freaking doctor’s office.”
“My sister?” He points to her. “The one that was licking your window a couple minutes ago and is now violating the sanctity of your truck by playing a Justin Bieber song?” Closing my eyes, I let the horror of the situation wash over me.
“Let’s just get this done so I can get my fiancé home and spank the shit out of her.”
We start going over the plan, and my eyes keep straying to the woman singing karaoke in my truck—badly.
“All right, Tremaine is in unit number four. Cash and Carter, watch the back for runners. Griff and I will go to the front. We’re after Tremaine, he’s the focus. He’ll be armed, and the bastard is a loose cannon, so stay focused, stay sharp.”
The house is packed and the music is blaring. Griff looks at me and smiles, and I brace as he bangs on the front door. “Bond Enforcement!”
Despite the music, there’s a moment of shocked silence, then the hollers and crashes of multiple bodies all trying to get out of the house at the same time.
I’m too focused to laugh at the saggy-pantsed boy trying to run out of the front door, but since his baggy pants are around his knees, he trips and falls down every single step on the front of the house. Looking at the faces as they run past me, I’m beginning to think that our intel was shit when some little motherfucker thinks to get the jump on me.
This little gold-toothed fucker screams in my face, blood pouring out of his nose, and I realize this is the little asshole who tripped down the stairs. His spindly arms barely reach around my neck, and it’s like being choked out by a two-year-old.