Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Wild Thoughts
Charity Ferrell
Wild Thoughts
Copyright © 2018 by Charity Ferrell
All rights reserved.
www.charityferrell.com
Pop Rock
Copyright © 2018 by Charity Ferrell
All rights reserved.
This book is copyrighted under copyright laws.
This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for a review. If you have not purchased this book from Amazon or received a copy from the author, you are reading a pirated book.
This book is fiction. Real events, people, places, or incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictionally. Any resemble to locales, actual events, persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Also by Charity Ferrell
BLUE BEECH SERIES
(each book can be read as a standalone)
Just Her Bodyguard
Just One Night
STANDALONES
Bad For You
Pop Rock
Pretty and Reckless
Revive Me
RISKY SERIES
Risky
Worth The Risk
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1
Addison
Does that feel good, baby?” Cam asks, his words broken up by labored pants.
The moan slipping through my lips in response sounds phony, but he doesn’t catch on … or he doesn’t care. He only grunts in approval, and I lay in boredom while his sweaty body slams into mine roughly. I shiver at the feel of his hot, wet lips grazing my skin, curving up the arch of my neck, and his tongue stops to sliver in my earlobe.
My body should be exploding with excitement. I should be pleading for my own orgasm and begging for more. Instead, I’m wondering what genius invented the Internet and going over the books I still need to order before leaving for college in the fall.
Welcome to the mundane sex life of Addison Andrews.
I’ve been screwing my boyfriend, Cam, for over a year now. It’s boredom city each and every time. It’s monotonous. It’s routine. I have more enjoyment reading random Wikipedia pages. Don’t get me wrong–it’s not that I don’t enjoy sex, it’s that my boyfriend doesn’t put in any effort to satisfy me. He sucks in the sack.
“Spread your legs wider, babe,” he croaks out.
I wiggle around on the couch, trying to find space to adjust myself, but his body is too heavy above me.
“Yeah, babe, spread those pretty little legs wider, so he can get in that pussy,” a graveling voice calls out.
A voice that definitely doesn’t belong to my boyfriend.
A voice I’ve never heard before.
Cam stops. It’s like time has frozen. He looks down at me, wide-eyed, and in just as much shock as me. We’re supposed to be home alone. No one can know I’m screwing my boyfriend on the regular because I’m supposed to be a virgin.
My heart beats so wildly I’m positive it’s about to give out. I slam my eyes shut as fear starts to coil in my stomach. I struggle to breathe and jerk up in horror, terrified to find out whom I’m about to face. Pain courses through my skull, and I cry out in agony when my forehead collides with Cam’s temple.
We look like a hot mess.
“Motherfucker!” Cam yells while palming his forehead.
I cross my arms over my bare chest, pressing my elbows tight to my sides as I rise, and focus on the stranger standing across the room. He’s tall, definitely over six feet. A black duffel bag is casually thrown over his shoulder, and his lips are pulled into an arrogant smirk. Elation is clear on his face.
“You two lovebirds don’t quit on my account,” he says, waving his hand through the air. “Do continue. Ignore me. I’m headed to my new bedroom, so you can spread those legs wider, and he can fuck you better, princess.”
His bedroom? Who the hell is this guy? What is he doing in my basement?
Heat radiates through my face. “Who are you?” I shriek, and it hits me that Cam still hasn’t pulled out of me.
Dear God, I’m about to have this conversation with my boyfriend’s dick still lodged inside me. This couldn’t get more humiliating.
Cam is still balancing himself above me, and he hasn’t said a word. I’m not sure if he doesn’t know what to do … or if he thinks we’re going to start back up when this guy leaves.
That’s definitely not happening.
His eyes shoot down to me when I slap his shoulder to get his attention. He takes the hint and bends down to collect his shirt from the floor. He throws it over our waists and pulls out of me. We start scrambling to find the rest of our clothes. I manage to throw my shirt on, sans bra, and then pull my panties up my legs.
“I’m Zeth,” the guy finally says.
The name doesn’t ring a bell.
“Okay … is that supposed to mean something to me?” I ask. Wait, why am I talking to a stranger in my house? I look around for my phone. “I’m calling the cops.”
“No, fuck,” he rushes out. “I’m Leonard’s son.”
I freeze. Shit, I forgot Leonard, my stepdad, has a son. Leonard married my mom almost five years ago, and his son has never come around. He didn’t even attend their wedding. The invitation was mailed back with the words Fuck You scribbled over it with permanent marker.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to stay calm.
“I live here now.”
“I’m sorry, you what?”
According to Leonard, his son lives in California. So why is he here in the Hamptons?
He releases a sharp laugh. “Looks like my dear ol’ dad didn’t give you a heads up, huh? Otherwise, you probably wouldn’t have been down here giving me a show.” He scratches his short, black hair. “Say hello to the new family addition, sis.” He waves at me sarcastically before looking over at Cam, who still hasn’t said a word. “Don’t worry, dude. I won’t try to fuck her.” His smirk grows more malicious as his eyes meet mine. “Unless she asks for it.”
I grimace. He shrugs his shoulders and heads toward the guest bedroom like we’re no longer entertaining to him.
“What the fuck?” Cam says, finally deciding to
talk when he hears the guest room door slam shut. “This fucker is going to be living with you?”
I shrug in an attempt to calm myself down. “I guess so.”
“I don’t want you here with him.” He grabs his shirt, pulls it over his arms, and starts to button it up. “He seems like a raging asshole, and I’m positive he’s going to try to fuck you.”
I bend down to snag my bra and shorts from the floor. “He might try, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let him.”
I’ll be staying as far away from him as I can.
Cam seems satisfied with my answer. “I better head out.”
“What? You’re going to leave me alone with this guy?”
He slips on his flip-flops and lets out an annoyed breath. “I told you I couldn’t stay long.”
“Yeah, but you never told me why.”
“Dinner with my parents, babe.”
I frown. “Why can’t I tag along? They always invite me to dinner.”
“They said it’s a private matter. They want to have a personal talk or some shit, damn.” He bends down to give me a kiss. “I’ll call you when I get home. Love you.”
I give him a small smile. “I love you, too.”
I run upstairs as soon as Cam walks out the back door.
Apparently, I have a stepbrother who’s a giant asshole.
Oh, and he also has dirt on me.
My entire day just went straight to hell.
2
Zeth
I’m eavesdropping on the couch banger’s conversation and can’t help but grin when I hear the guy pulling the fuck and run on this chick.
Too bad he’s doing a pussy job at it.
There’s an art to ditching a woman after sex. She needs to feel satisfied, rewarded in the end, in case you ever want to come back for seconds. I’ve pulled the fuck and run so many times I’m a fucking expert. I might have to throw this guy some tips.
Any decent person would’ve turned around and left the room if they walked in on two people fucking, but not me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not creeping in people’s bushes at night and watching them get freaky like some voyeur. I don’t get off on that shit. But that was too good to walk away from.
The last thing I expected after traveling across the country was to find my dad’s perfect, new family wasn’t so perfect after all. I almost pissed myself when I heard the moaning and grunting as I made my way downstairs, following the directions of the maid. I silently prayed I wasn’t about to walk in on my dad railing his wife … or mistress, knowing him.
Instead, I found something less revolting and much more interesting–my new stepsister. I thought the little blonde princess was going to have a heart attack when she saw me.
I grab the doorknob when I hear the guy leave, slightly twisting it while debating whether or not to go fuck with her some more, but stop myself. I don’t need her going and telling my dad I’m harassing her or some shit. She looks like one of those girls with a giant stick up her ass. I’m sure she wouldn’t give two fucks about making trouble for me. At least, I have blackmail on her. It’s always good to be one step ahead of people.
I throw my bag down on the king size bed, and my blood starts to boil as I take a look around. My dad has been out here living large in a house that’s practically a fucking mansion but didn’t even have enough damn courtesy to pay my mom a dime of child support when I was growing up.
He didn’t even have enough backbone to pick me up from the airport. His overweight driver attempted to muster up some bullshit excuse, but I knew the real reason. He doesn’t want me here. That makes two of us. The only reason I’m here is because of a court order.
I glance up from my phone when my bedroom door flies open. My dad appears in the doorway, his haughty eyes assessing me, and he shoves his hands in the pockets of his dress pants.
“Son,” he says, his eyes darkening, and he shuts the door behind him.
He doesn’t want anyone overhearing our conversation because he knows I come without a filter. That’s what happens when you grow up without a dad, you say anything that’s on your fucking mind and don’t give a shit about it.
“Long time, no see,” he goes on.
I scoff. It’s been eight years since I’ve seen him. I was thirteen. He’d only came around a few times before then, but the last time I thought he was staying for good. He took me out for pizza, gave me fifty bucks, and told me he’d see me the next day. That never happened.
It’s been two years since we’ve had an actual conversation. He called to talk to my mom, and I told him to fuck off. He thinks I’m a disrespectful prick, and I think he’s a pompous, self-centered asshole. I don’t know what the hell my mom ever saw in him.
“What’s up?” I ask, hoping he isn’t going to try some fatherly bonding bullshit. This guy makes me sick.
“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”
“I’m not hungry. Long flight.”
He shakes his head. “Too bad. I’m sure you’re not accustomed to this, but we eat dinner together every night as a family.”
I toss my phone down next to me and stare straight into eyes that are strikingly similar to mine. “You’re right. I’m not accustomed to it because my mom had to work two jobs to support us. We didn’t have the time or money to sit around a table and act all fucking proper.”
“You watch your mouth,” he warns, his finger flying up in the air. “I’m only going to say this once. You will respect my family and me …”
“I’m not your family?” I ask, cutting him off and holding my hand to my chest. “I’m so heartbroken.”
“You’ll meet my wife, Melinda, and her daughter, Addison tonight. Don’t mess with them, especially Addison. I will not lose my marriage because of you. I’m giving you enough time to get a job and save up for either your own place or a ticket back home when your time is up. You’re old enough to be on your own. I’m only doing this for your mother.”
I scoff. “Oh, now you want to think about her.”
He snarls, turns around, and slams the door shut on his way out.
Dinner is baked chicken and broccoli and was prepared with love by their cook/maid/whatever else she is, Sally.
How fucking precious.
I grab my fork and immediately start to dig in but freeze up when I hear a loud cough. All eyes are on me. I slowly set my fork back down on my plate, looking around the table and wondering what everyone is waiting for.
“Grace,” is all my dad says.
They all bow their heads, and Melinda starts praying. I know I should probably be doing the same thing, but I’m using this time to take each one of them in.
I knew as soon as I walked upstairs to meet Melinda she didn’t like me. Her words were nice, but her upper lip curled when I said hi. Her eyes swallowed in my tattoos like they were foreign objects to her, which pissed me off. Tattoos aren’t so fucking taboo anymore. I’m sure mine aren’t the first she’s seen.
Melinda looks like an older, more frigid version of Addison. Her blonde hair is cut at the base of her neck, and she’s wearing a formal black dress and pearls.
I glance down at my clothes. I’m sporting an old, tattered concert tee from last year’s Coachella and ripped jeans.
My eyes move to Addison, the basement-sex-girl and my new stepsister, and she’s not keeping up with grace either. Instead, she’s staring straight at me. Her baby blues dart away from mine when I give her a wink. She could barely muster out a simple hello when her mom introduced us. I acted like I hadn’t met her … or seen her pretty little ass naked.
She’s not wearing a dress like her mom, but she certainly looks a few steps up from me. Her blonde, almost white hair is down in loose waves that hit the peak of her chest. I wish she were showing more cleavage in her black tee. I only caught a glimpse of her tits earlier, but they looked pretty damn good from a distance.
Her skin is on the fair side, but sun-kissed, most likely from hanging out by their pool in the backyard. She’s
attractive. I’ll admit that, but not my type. I don’t usually go for the snotty, rich chicks.
“Zeth, honey,” Melinda says when she’s finished, her voice soft-spoken. “I want to go over the house rules.”
“Rules?” I ask, snatching my fork back up. “I’m twenty-one years old.”
I’ve never had rules, even when I was younger. My mom was always working twelve-hour shifts and didn’t give a shit about where I went as long as I helped with the bills. When I moved out at seventeen, I still helped her with money as much as I could. I’ll never abandon her like Leonard did.
“But you’re living under our roof, Zeth,” my dad says with annoyance. “There are rules here.”
I take a bite and wipe my mouth. “Lay them on me then.”
I’ll sit here and listen to their rules, but I know damn well I’ll be breaking every single one of them.
“Curfew is at midnight during the week and one on the weekends,” Melinda begins. “Any guests you have over must leave by those times as well. If your company is of the opposite sex, you must be in open areas at all times. They are not allowed in your bedroom.”
This has to be a joke. “You’re kidding, right?”
I glance across the table at Addison, and she won’t even look at me. She’s staring at her broccoli like it’s the most intriguing thing on Earth. She’s nervous as hell I’m going to open my big mouth and ruin her good girl image.
I do have to give the girl some credit. She broke the rules, and I love nothing more than a rule breaker. Plus, I have some dirt on my lovely little stepsister if she tries snitching on me.
I look back at Melinda. She’s giving me a blank look, clearly telling me she’s not kidding.
“Got it. Looks like I’ll be screwing girls in your open family rooms then. I do want to pre-warn you of possibly reconsidering that rule if you don’t want your couch broken. I tend to be pretty wild in the sack, and I’ve been known to break furniture, especially when I’m drinking.” I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and signal to my lap. “No whiskey dick for this guy.”
Wild Thoughts Page 1