by Mia Scott
Alisha grinned knowingly back at her friend. "No, you're not. And I wouldn't be either if I was in your shoes. I'm really happy for you, Fabs."
"Thanks, Lisha. I still can't believe it," she whispered, the bright as sunshine smile lighting up her pretty face.
She felt Big's foot nudging hers under the table. When she glanced up, she found him fully engaged in a conversation with Adam about the Giants. At first, she thought it had been an accident, but when his foot travelled higher up her leg, she should've known that he'd try and mess with her for his own amusement. Well, two could play that game. Slipping out of her shoes, she trailed a bare foot up his jean covered leg until her toes nestled against his crotch. Wiggling them gently, she lifted her fork to her lips and took a big bite of mashed potatoes, her eyes dancing playfully when he looked lazily over at her and arched a brow in warning. They really weren't very good at being inconspicuous today.
"Alisha, darling," Russell began, noticing the way her head snapped to his quickly like she'd just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. He quelled the urge to grin.
"Yes, Russell?"
"Adam has this friend at work, Mark, and we—"
"You," Adam corrected pointedly, wanting to stay the hell out of it.
Russell stared indolently at his partner and then back at Alisha. "As I was saying, I think Mark would be perfect for you. Why don't we set that up?"
"Oh, that's—that's sweet, Russell, but no thank you," she said, trying to be polite.
"Come on," Russell prodded, sparing a glance at Big, who was leaning back in his chair, seemingly amused by the whole situation. "I showed him your picture and he's very interested in meeting you."
"Well, bully for Mark," Alisha said sarcastically, spearing the green beans forcefully with the tines of her fork. She was uncomfortable, to say the least. Big was watching her interestedly across the table, his lips twisting into a wry smirk; Russell's eyes were boring intensely into the side of her head. Then Maggie joined in the mix.
"What are we talking about?" she inquired curiously.
"I'm trying to set up Alisha with a guy that works with Adam. His name is Mark; he's 27, super gorgeous, smart, funny, athletic, looks great in a suit and he has season tickets to both the opera and the Giants."
"Alisha, he sounds perfect," Maggie said. "You should give him your number."
"No, I'm good. Thanks," Alisha begged off.
"Do you have a picture?" Maggie asked Russell. "Maybe a picture would help."
"Mmm hmm," he hummed, grabbing his camera and flipping through his photos. "No, no, no. Oh, here we go. Met him at happy hour last week."
Alisha grudgingly took the camera and looked at the photo. He was a cute guy—seemingly tall, nicely built, crystal blue eyes and light brown hair that was just shaggy enough to be considered fashionable and not unkempt. "Not bad," she shrugged, not daring to look at Big for fear of giving them away.
"Need your eyes checked, Alisha? He's a little hottie," Maggie exclaimed. "Do it. Go out with him."
"Yes, Alisha, go out with him," Russell chimed in, noting that Big was beginning to look a little perturbed.
"I'll think about it," Alisha snapped, inwardly wincing the moment the words were past her lips. "Can we just table this for now? It's Thanksgiving."
"Hmm, fair enough," Russell said, pleased as punch, this time catching the muscles in Big's jaw tightening as he stabbed a piece of turkey harder than was necessary. Excellent. Mentally, he rubbed his hands together in a Mr. Burns-like fashion.
Alisha and Maggie were putting the kitchen back to rights after the meal when Big called out from the living room, "Yo, Larrington, your Colts are about to start playing."
"Alisha, I've got this," Maggie said, snatching the dishtowel from her hands. "I know you want to watch the game, so just go. I owe you for finishing up dinner."
Her eyes lit up and smiled gratefully at her friend. "Thanks, Fabs." She never got to watch games live because of work, so this was a rare opportunity. After cutting a slice of pecan pie and adding whipped cream to the top, she hurried to the living room. James was sprawled out over the length of one sofa and Big's frame ate up a large portion of the loveseat. "Scooch," she ordered haughtily, sitting down next to him.
"Maybe if you give me your pie," he said lecherously.
She rolled her eyes. "Your lines land like bricks. Mine," she scolded, slapping his hand away when he reached for her plate.
James stood up. "I'm going to go help Maggie clean up," he said.
Big smirked and made a whipped sound, complete with hand motion. He chuckled lowly when James flipped him the bird and lumbered away.
"You're an ass," Alisha told him, casting her eyes sideways towards him. She found his careless shrug adorable and held her plate out, offering him some pie. "One bite."
He grinned, and grabbed the fork and shoveled a mammoth bite into his mouth. "Holy fuck this is good," he grunted with his mouth full. "You make this, Shorty?" He swallowed and went for another bite.
"Yes, now go get your own. Oh, the game is starting." She forcefully yanked the plate out of his hands and dug in, her attention focused on her boys in blue.
With an exaggerated sigh, he pushed himself off the couch and strolled into the kitchen, finding James and Maggie sucking face and getting extremely hands-y. Deciding against acting like himself and interrupting with a way to go, bro! he grabbed the pie carrier off the counter and fled back to the living room. "Time for us to go, Larrington."
"What? Why?" she looked up with a pout.
"Shit is about to get X-rated in the kitchen." He leaned in closer, "how about we go do the same at my place?" He noticed the look on her face and smirked. "After the game is over."
Alisha beamed. "I'll get my coat."
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" she shouted, jumping to her feet when Peyton connected with Dallas Clark in the end zone. "Number 44, baby!" She plopped back down next to Big on the couch, nudging him playfully. "Did you see my boyfriend, Dallas, score? Huh? Didja?"
Big rolled his eyes and chuckled. "You've got serious lady wood for Dallas Clark."
Alisha let out a little moan by way of agreement. "I do. He's thick and juicy."
"He's not a steak, Larrington. And he's got a porn 'stache."
She turned her head slowly and regarded him. "Jealous?" she asked impishly.
Big snorted. "Bitch, please," he tossed back jokingly.
"And it's not a porn 'stache. It's a goatee," she corrected primly. "Extra point—good!" she excitedly called, raising her arms straight up in the air before turning and shooting a dimpled smile at him.
Big shook his head, fighting off his own grin. He had to admit that he was shocked by her knowledge of football. He figured her one of those girls who claimed to like the game but only knew the name of the quarterback. (He'd met many of those girls in his day) The fact that she knew every player, coach, and the types of plays being run was fucking sexy and it impressed the hell out of him.
But then again she was constantly surprising him and keeping him on his toes. And he liked that about her. A lot. He usually didn't get to know any of the girls he slept with and he sure as shit didn't keep them around this long. This thing between them was a nice change of pace. Now before you go thinking he'd gone and sprouted lady parts, they were still just friends who fucked (a lot), and he had a knuckle sandwich for anyone who suggested otherwise. Biggerone didn't do relationships and she didn't want one either. It was the perfect setup. Seriously. Alisha Larrington was a smoking hot chick who made him laugh and was killer in the sack. It was a wonder though that she didn't have guys falling at her feet and eating out of the palm of her hand. He thought that if she wanted that, she could easily make it happen. (With lesser men of course and not him obviously. Duh!)
He felt her lips press against his earlobe and her warm breath on his neck. "The game's over. Wanna play with me now?" she whispered seductively. He could feel her smile against his neck as she walked her fingers alon
g his bicep, her scent surrounding him.
She could very well be the best friend he'd ever had, he thought as a slow, wicked grin spread over his features. "You're not going to pretend I'm Dallas Clark are you?" he asked gruffly.
Alisha stood up and smirked down at him. "I wouldn't do that. Again."
His jaw dropped; she grinned. And like a shot, he was off the couch, chasing her through his apartment as her laughter squealed through the air. He caught up to her, slung an arm around her waist and hoisted her off her feet, effortlessly tucking her tiny form under one arm. Growling in her ear, she laughed even harder. "Larrington, Larrington, Larrington," he scolded, carrying her towards his bedroom, "what am I going to do with you?"
"I can't wait to find out," she giggled.
Her face was illuminated in the soft golden glow from his bedside lamp as she slowly writhed on top of him. He watched her, completely transfixed, while her hips swiveled in a slow, tantalizing rhythm that made his breath come a little faster and his heart pound a little harder. She was absolutely gorgeous with her head tossed back and a hand tangled in that mass of thick, dark hair, the other trailing down the valley between her perfect breasts. The breathy way she moaned his name while looking down at him through lowered lashes with a faint smile on full, pink lips made him never want to leave his bed.
It was in these moments that he allowed himself to think she was completely his and he was hers. (Even though he didn't want to begin to define what that meant exactly.) But she was fucking his, because the thought of her doing this with anyone else made his skin turn fifty-seven shades of green and had his hands itching to rip faceless men limb from motherfucking limb if they even dared to look in her direction.
He was sure she wasn't sleeping with anyone else. Well, mostly sure. That was something that hadn't been defined or even talked about in the midst of laying the ground rules for their…whatever. He hadn't so much as breathed in another woman's direction since the afternoon he'd kissed her on the sidewalk in the middle of the goddamn snow—and that shit, while trippy and weird, didn't bother him. What bothered him now, as more breathy moans passed through her lips, were guys named Mark that her friends wanted to set her up with; or that fucking dude Derek that he'd found in her apartment that one night and knew for a fact she'd gotten on her back for. Well, fuck all that. Because Jake Biggerman? Didn't fucking share.
"Alisha?" he bit out, his voice raspy.
"Hmm?" she sighed, her hips rocking a little faster.
His hands came to her hips and guided her movements. She felt so goddamn good. "I've got a rule to add to our…arrangement."
She opened her eyes a little wider and smiled down at him, planting her hands on his chest. "Okay," she said, quickly followed by "Oh, God, this is good. What's this new rule?"
"As long as this thing between us lasts, you only fuck me. No one else," he said harshly.
The words hit her like a bucket of ice water. Her hips stilled, and her eyes flew open to glare into his. "Excuse me?" she ground out. She moved to climb off of him, but his grip tightened around her hips and kept them joined. He bucked his hips, thrusting deep inside her, and her eyes rolled back in spite of herself.
"What's the big damn deal? I just want to hear you say you're not doing this with anyone else but me."
"You're an asshole," she snapped. "And an idiot. You're the only one I've been doing this with, Big. Though after this, I don't think we will again."
His eyes narrowed to thin slits and he reared up, so they were face to face. "Like hell, Alisha. You don't want this to end." He fisted a hand in her hair and roughly dragged her lips to his, kissing her forcefully. She resisted briefly, then he felt her resolve slip and she kissed him back with as much fervor as he did her. "Neither do I. Just tell me," he bit out.
Angry tears stung behind her eyes. "I already told you," she spat heatedly. "I'm not with anyone else. But I also said that we should only do this for as long as it's fun. You insinuating that I get on my back and point my heels to God for anyone with a penis isn't fun."
"That's not what I fucking said." She struggled in his grasp and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his nose in her hair. "That's not what I said," he repeated softly. "Don't put words in my mouth."
"What about you, huh, Big? Are you out banging chicks in bathrooms or closets until I get off work?" She hated that she went there, but turnabout was fair-fucking-play and when she was backed into a corner, she swiped back.
He lifted his head and stared down heatedly at her. "I haven't touched anyone since you. Haven't wanted to."
She believed him. But, God, it would make everything easier if she didn't. This thing was getting complicated already and she wasn't sure she was equipped to handle it. "I believe you," she sighed. "Why don't you believe me?"
"Dammit, Alisha! I never said I didn't believe you," he growled. "All I'm asking is that we only have sex with each other for as long as whatever this is lasts. And you're not going out on a fucking date with that douche Russell wants to set you up with either."
It was as though the clouds had suddenly parted, allowing the sun to shine clearly over the real issue at hand. He was jealous. "You're an idiot," she said again, though she rolled her hips into his. And then did it again.
"You still pissed?" he asked dumbly, loosening his hold on her arms. He figured if she was still having sex with him they must be good.
"Yes, I'm still plenty pissed and I'd like for you to just shut your damn mouth for a little bit," she bit out, screwing her eyes tightly closed, pumping her hips furiously against his. His lips closed over hers in a bruising kiss and she dug her fingers into his shoulders as she rode him as hard and as fast as she could, sprinting towards the finish line as the crazy and commanding lust wound itself into a tight coil in her belly.
Big swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet finding purchase on the floor. His hands gripped her shoulders and slammed her down again and again on his cock, which only served to make her movements even more powerful and frantic. His brain screamed for oxygen and he tore his lips away from hers, sucking in a ragged breath. Her eyes flew open and locked heatedly onto his. "Fuck me," he ordered, bucking against her. "Fuck me!"
And she did. Hard. Fast. Furious. The burning between her thighs hit a fever pitch and her entire body was on fire. His teeth bit down against her pulse point and his fingers slipped between them and pinched her clit, hurling her over the edge as every color of the rainbow bloomed in her vision and a primal scream ripped from her throat.
Her walls clenched like a vise around his cock and he came hard and fast after her, shuddering violently as the orgasm wracked through his body. He swallowed thickly and raised his head. Alisha had her forehead pressed against his shoulder, her chest heaving and her warm breath hitting his heated skin. Gently, he combed his fingers through her hair and tipped her head up until her warm brown eyes met his.
The heat and anger had melted away from his eyes, she noticed, and his fingers were ghosting lines up and down her spine as he dipped his head to kiss her lips. That kiss was tender and sweet and everything that the last ten minutes had not been.
"I'm sorry," he murmured against her mouth. "I'm an asshole." She didn't say anything, and it unnerved him. After a moment she pressed her lips fully against his and leaned back to look at his face.
"That whole fucked up situation aside, Jake, I'm still having fun with you," she said finally.
Big's lips twitched up into a relieved smirk. "Ditto."
She sighed, her own smile fluttering across her face. "Want to go eat some pie?" she asked, smoothing her hair behind one ear. "And by that I mean dessert, not a euphemism for my vagina."
He laughed and kissed her noisily on the cheek, making her giggle. "Sounds good. You wanna watch your parade performance?"
Alisha's eyebrows shot up. "You recorded it?" she asked incredulously.
He bit the inside of his lip and shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed before remember
ing badasses don't get embarrassed. "Yup," he grinned.
And when her face lit up like the Fourth of July, he knew he'd been forgiven.
Chapter 15
Big sat back in the well-worn chair thumbing through a months-old issue of Men's Health trying to curb the urge to punch the doucherod sitting next to him in the face for coughing in his general direction. God knows what kind of germs he was spreading. He decided, as he waited amongst the sick for his name to be called, that he was a little (maybe a lot) pussy whipped. He wasn't sick. Far from it. No, he was in the doctor's office to get his dickhole swabbed and a panel of STD tests run because Larrington'd asked him to.
See? Pussy whipped.
In his defense (and that of his badassness), Alisha had provided tremendous incentive to get said tests run, so he really didn't mind spending a morning off in this manner. (Though he wasn't super jazzed about owning up to the doctor the number of sex partners he'd had since his last visit.) Ever since Thanksgiving last week, the same night that they'd agreed to be mutually exclusive fuck buddies, their sex had managed to get even hotter and more intense. He wasn't sure how that was possible, but it was the truth, so there you have it.
But back to the incentive. The other night while they were having sex, she looked up at him with those amazing doe eyes of hers that were heavy-lidded and smoldering and in a pouty, breathy moan, said I want to feel you come inside me, while wrapping her legs higher up on his hips. That was wicked hot and completely unexpected and just the thought of it made him blow his load a little early. (Whatever, he was a fucking rock star in the sack and he totally made it up to her later.) Anyway, after they were done, he'd asked her if she was serious about what she'd said and she told him that she had been very serious and that since she was on the pill and they were only sleeping with each other (His idea, by the way, lest you'd forgotten that genius move) that it would be nice to not have to worry about condoms. He was all about that because he hadn't hit anything barebacked since he was sixteen and that had only been one time (He didn't want any little Biggerones running around the greater Staten Island area, thank you very much.) He was ready to get started immediately and cream pie her good, but she told him there was no way that was happening until she knew he was clean. He'd been mildly offended and had insisted that he was STD-free, but no dice until she had proof. He thought it only fair that she ante up with proof of her own and she'd smiled and said no problem, though he's pretty sure that she was being condescending.