by Monica James
That’s all I’ve been doing lately. It’s time I let loose.
The rest of the car ride, Belle and I down a dozen bottles between us, so it goes without saying, when we arrive at Lincoln’s million-dollar mansion in the Los Feliz Hills, we’re trashed. We stumble from the limo, giggling and acting like two schoolgirls. Usually, I would frown at this behavior, but tonight, I’m planning on letting my hair down.
Or up.
I allowed Belle to primp and style me. I needed to change anyway, considering I was sticky and covered in blue syrup. Belle’s closet is bigger than my whole room, so it was easy finding something I didn’t completely hate.
I opted for a short black dress with a high-neck lace collar. Belle did my makeup and hair. I usually wear my long hair down, but Belle styled it into a high bun. I was surprised that it made my cheekbones look so much more defined and my small nose regal. However, that could be all the makeup she caked on too.
I barely wear any makeup, but tonight, I’ve broken that rule. Belle applied a dark shadow which made my green eyes pop. She then went to town with foundation, mascara, eyeliner, and to finish it off, she smeared my lips with a dark plum. I kind of feel like Avril Lavigne, but I trust Belle, who said I looked amazing.
As we amble up the ridiculously long driveway, I’m glad I haven’t surrendered completely to the dark side. “And you said I couldn’t wear my Chucks.” Belle giggles, almost falling on her ass in her five-inch red pumps.
Lincoln’s house is nice enough, but to me, it looks like every other house in the neighborhood. With its imposing high walls, and endless stories, it reeks of fortune and success. Houses, cars, spouses—in this world, they’re all just for show. I would much rather a well-loved, modest home, because if those walls could talk, they’d no doubt have a tale to tell.
As I hear some rap song blaring from inside the house, I know there is no substance behind anything anymore. This superficial world sucks you dry, and it’s survival of the fittest. The sooner I wrap my head around it, the better.
No more caring about who, what, and why. I’m here to have fun and forget I ever met someone named London Sinclair.
The moment we enter the white double doors, I see that Lincoln might have exaggerated when he said small get-together. It may be the fact I have beer or whiskey goggles on, but I’d say close to two hundred kids are here.
Belle bounces by my side, shuffling to the music. If this is the radio station we’re tuned into for the night, then I need another drink.
“You made it!” Lincoln whispers into my ear, surprising me as he wraps a hand around my waist. This touching in public is new to me, so I jolt. His husky laugh tickles the length of my neck. “Want a drink?”
I don’t even hesitate for a second. “Yes, please.”
He coaxes me to turn around. When I do, he doesn’t mask his approval. “You look fucking hot.”
My cheeks heat, and I instantly lower my chin in embarrassment. “Hey.” He lifts my chin with his finger before planting an open-mouth kiss on my lips.
The surprises keep on coming it seems, because kissing in public—this is something new. Even though people have speculated about us, we’ve usually reserved this kind of affection for behind closed doors. It feels so taboo.
Reveling in the uprising, I kiss him back as if my life depends on it.
Wrapping a hand around his nape, I draw him closer, smooshing our faces until I don’t know where my mouth starts and his ends. He kisses me back with so much tongue, I feel like he’s panning for gold, but tonight is about forgetting and letting go.
We’re pushed and shoved, as we’re standing in the middle of the foyer, but that only encourages Lincoln to hold me tighter. His hand slips low, landing on my ass. This is the moment I would usually shy away, but not tonight. I reach around and encourage him to grab me harder. He grunts, thrusting his hips into me, and speaking of hard…
My eyes pop open, as I’m not that drunk. His boner is probing me, and judging by the size of it, he’s hot and ready to go. “How about that drink?” I say, pulling away. I may want to forget, but that’s not at the expense of forgetting my morals.
“How about we have that drink upstairs?” he counters, licking his plump lips.
“Maybe later,” I reply, subtly dancing from his hold.
“Such a cock tease.” He smirks before arranging himself in his pants.
He reaches for my hand, and I don’t fail to see the unimpressed scowls of every valley girl in the room. It’s really a rags-to-riches story, which they obviously don’t like one bit. Sadly, someone else will take my place and be the center of their ridicule because that’s what they do—they belittle others to make themselves feel better about their shallow, artificial world.
In my horny, drunken haze, I totally forgot about Belle, which is bad on all counts. The last time I left her unsupervised, I was arrested. Peering around the room, I wonder where she could be. But I find her soon enough. Or maybe, I found him.
His presence is like staring into the sun—it’s blinding, but it’s also too beautiful to look away. He’s in the same clothes as earlier, but as our eyes lock and he tilts his head to the side, I realize I’m not.
He’s standing on the bottom step of the grand staircase, elevating his position so he can look over his followers like the true king he believes himself to be. The move just makes him look like a bigger jackass, appearing too good to mingle with us commoners.
Belle is by his side, whispering something into his ear. She’s nestled against him, pressing her boobs to his flank, but she may as well be touching him with her little toe because he doesn’t appear to be listening to a word she has to say.
He’s making no secret of checking me out, which arouses and pisses me off all in the same breath. I feel naked under his close scrutiny, but I stand proud, daring him to look away first. But he doesn’t. The challenge seems to excite him. He raises his cup in salute before throwing back the contents. His Adam’s apple bobs with the force, and a mewl escapes me.
I hate that my inner cheerleader is chanting RA RA RA! And I hate that I wish I was snuggled up against him and not Belle. I’m held prisoner by those stormy eyes, but every part of me surrenders, happily submitting everything I am.
He smirks, full disclosure that he knows everything below the belt is tingling. Fuck him.
It’ll be a cold day in hell before I allow him to toy with my head a second longer. I have no idea what I feel for him, but tingling and mewling are off-limits. To emphasize my point, I flip him off smugly. I feel slightly better until he winks, spreading a new wave of yearning from head to toe.
“The drinks are outside,” Lincoln says, kissing my cheek and steering me away from trouble.
The fresh air is the slap I needed, but it’s also a smack to my sudden soberness. I’ve never seen the appeal of a beer bong, but that soon changes. “Teach me!” I yell a little too spiritedly. Lincoln laughs when I drag him over.
There is no denying my attraction toward him. He’s tall, dark, and handsome. He also seems to like me, which is a bonus. Pressing up behind me, he wraps his arms around me and bends low to whisper into my ear. “There are no rules. Just wrap your pretty lips around the hose and chug.”
I can’t help but cackle at his seedy innuendo. Two can play that game. “I’ve never done it before; maybe I need some practice.” I make my intentions loud and clear when I wiggle my ass into his groin. He groans, the sound liberating my inner vixen.
Just as he goes to grab, I skip out of his hold, blowing a raspberry his way.
The crowd of partygoers chants the infamous, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” encouraging a bikini clad blonde to swallow until she passes out.
Thankfully, a girl who looks to be a concerned friend gently pries her off the end, making room for yours truly. Lincoln pushes me forward, holding the hose and gesturing for me to fall to my knees. I don’t question it because that’s what the old me would do. Tonight is about forgetting the past.
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br /> Dropping to both knees, I grab the hose, unable to detach myself from the old me completely. I reach for the hem of Lincoln’s polo and wipe the end of the hose on it, as I have no idea where that girl’s mouth has been.
“Ready?” he asks with a twinkle in his warm, brown eyes.
“Yes!” I scream, fist pumping the air.
“Are you really sure?” he teases, and I laugh.
“Yes. Just do it already!”
“Okay,” he warns, unhinging some valve thing. The action sends a thousand gallons of beer down my throat, and I instantly gag, not used to so much fluid running into my mouth. Every part of me is demanding I pull away, but I resist and gulp down every drop.
The wild chants all meld into one, but it’s a head rush knowing those chants are for me. I’ve never been part of the crew, so when strangers call out my name, it’s too surreal for words. After what seems like seconds, Lincoln’s warm hands gently rest under my underarms to lift me up.
“I want to go again,” I slur, the sky kissed night tilting on its axis as I throw my head backward and spread my arms out wide. I’m certain I can fly.
“Maybe later, party girl.”
I fall into his arms, giggling. “Party pooper.”
The world is spinning, but through the chaos, I see clarity. This is the most fun I’ve had in…forever.
“Are you okay?” Lincoln asks, brushing a stray piece of hair from my cheeks.
His kindness is so unexpected. I’ve never had anyone be this nice to me before. “More than okay,” I reply, fingering his soft lips.
I’m transfixed by the feel of them, and I know it’s because I’m way past drunk. That’s confirmed when my stomach churns, and I think I might be sick. “Can I lie down?” I ask, placing a hand over my mouth.
So much for my newfound freedom.
“Of course.” Lincoln escorts me through the throngs of people, huddling me into his side because the crowd is making me feel even worse. I snuggle into him, closing my eyes and trusting he won’t take advantage of me in my drunken state.
En route to my sanctuary, we suddenly come to a stop. I want to protest, but when a husky voice warms my insides, I sag into Lincoln and everything falls still.
“Princess?”
“I’ve got her. She’s fine,” a voice which sounds like Lincoln barks.
“She’s not fucking fine. How much did she drink?” The voice sounds like Sin’s, but it surely can’t be his.
“You take care of your date, and I’ll take care of mine.”
You can cut the tension with a knife, but after what feels like forever, things quiet down. I hear a door squeak open before we enter a room, which smells amazing. It’s fresh, refined, and I instantly feel at home.
“I’m just going to help you lie down, okay?” I nod, my tongue feeling way too heavy for words.
Once my ass hits the mattress, I hum in delight. Lincoln helps me shuffle up the bed so I don’t head butt the headboard. The moment my head cushions between the fluffy pillows, my eyes seal shut with no intention of reopening any time soon.
“I’ll leave some water and painkillers on the bedside table.” All I can do is groan out my thanks.
As the bedside lamp switches on, I blindly reach out. Lincoln grabs my hand. “Sorry for being a lousy date.”
The bed depresses beside me. “Sleep it off. You should be feeling a little less lightheaded in an hour or two.”
I don’t argue and simply snuggle further into the pillows. “Thanks for being so nice to me,” I tiredly confess with a yawn.
I wake with a start.
Jolting upright, I groan, cupping my pounding head.
Taking a few seconds to process where I am, I attempt to catalog the last things I remember. Glancing downward, I see that I’m still clothed, and a sigh of relief leaves me.
The last thing I recall is chugging from a beer bong hose like it was going out of fashion. But I have no idea what happened after that. I’m definitely not at home; the Egyptian cotton beneath me confirms that.
Turning to my left, I see a photograph of Lincoln and his parents sitting on the side table. Near it sits a bottle of water and a pack of Advil. Snippets of Lincoln putting me to bed come back to me.
With a pained groan, I reach for the pills and water and gulp them down. The water feeds my dehydrated body, so I finish the bottle in one swig. Needing to find a bathroom and pronto, I slowly swing my legs to the side and hope the room stops spinning. Holding up my wrist inches from my face, I close one eye and try to focus on the time.
It’s early. Not even midnight. I think we got here around ten, so I’ve only been out for an hour or so.
The room finally stops whirling, so I take three deep breaths and stand. I splay my arms out to the side, hoping to keep my balance. It works.
Wow, I’ve never been this drunk before. I’ve been slightly intoxicated, but this is dipping into uncharted waters. Thankful I’m wearing my sneakers, I begin a slow shuffle toward the door. The hallway lights are blinding. I can’t help but shield my eyes like a vampire.
The music is still throbbing downstairs, pounding in time with my impending headache. My Chucks scuff on the carpet, but I’m grateful each step seems to clear my head. There are so many doors up here. I have no idea which one the bathroom is. I could always go find Lincoln, but I’m a little ashamed for getting so drunk so quick.
“Do you know where the bathroom is?” I ask a girl I’ve never seen before. She seems friendly enough and smiles, pointing down the hall.
“Thanks.” I continue my journey, thankful the music is muffled down at this end of the house.
The wallpapered walls are void of pictures, so different from our home, which is littered with happy snaps from all stages of my life. Thinking about my parents, I know I’d better sober up and find Belle. My curfew is at one, but seeing as I’m still grounded and snuck out without telling my folks, I want to get home before they discover I’m gone.
With that as my incentive, I decide to try the last door on the left. I’m certain this room belongs to Lincoln’s parents, which most definitely would have an en suite, as it’s the furthest room away from his. Just as I brace my hand on the handle, I hear a female’s voice, which sounds like Belle, coming from the doorway behind me.
I turn over my shoulder to see a door ajar. The dim light spilling out into the corridor reveals that whoever is inside doesn’t want to be disturbed. Images of Belle being drunk and taken advantage of crash into me, and I instantly feel like the world’s worst friend.
We promised to never leave each other’s side, and what do I do? Practically run from it.
Feeling more than guilty, I tiptoe toward the doorway, hoping to make amends for my shitty behavior.
The sliver of the doorway doesn’t give me much insight into what’s going on inside. I don’t want to pry, just in case it’s not Belle inside, so I nudge it open just an inch. Peering through the crack, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the soft lighting, but when they do, I almost wish I was blind.
There is no mistaking that long blonde hair, nor is there mistaking those five-inch red pumps. I don’t understand what I’m seeing because there must be some mistake. My drunken brain must have conjured up this scenario as there is no way my best friend is attempting to seduce…London Sinclair.
I can’t help myself. I lean farther forward, no better than a peeping Tom, but I just…I don’t believe it. But all doubt is forgotten when Belle reaches for Sin’s hand and places it to her backside. The gentle hue of the bedside lamp lights up his tattoos, confirming my worst fears to be true.
My best friend is seconds away from kissing my arch nemesis —I think I’m going to be sick.
I need to turn away right now and go home, but my feet are suddenly cemented to the ground. I’m utterly captivated by the sight of Sin letting down his guard. His eyes are cast downward, watching Belle seduce him just how I’m sure a hundred girls have before. But this is Belle, my best friend.
Why did he have to choose her?
This is disgraceful, but I can question my morals later because the moment she sinks low to her knees and unzips his shorts, I see something I never thought I’d ever see.
Sin is standing at full salute, his sizable cock glistening and catching the light radiating from the Tiffany bedside lamp. I’ve never seen one in real life before, and never in a million years did I think the first one I’d see would be Sin’s.
Belle has lifted the hem of his tank, revealing soft dark curls swathing the base of his cock. Everything about him is so masculine, and his generous shaft is no exception.
A fire begins to burn and my breath leaves me in winded gasps.
Everything about this is so sinfully wrong, but the throb in my center has never felt more right. My body tingles, and I suddenly need a release. Rubbing my thighs together only makes things worse. Every hum of his debauchery is like a sledgehammer pounding away at my resolve.
Sin growls before wrapping her hair around his fist.
I moan at the image, forgetting I hate him, because at this moment, the line between love and hate suddenly blurs. I’m utterly entranced, eagerly awaiting the climax, but my breathless impatience is my undoing.
Sin’s eyes unexpectedly tear away from what Belle is about to do. He focuses on the door. Or more specifically, he focuses on me. There is no way he can see me, I reason, but when a cocky smirk tugs at those lips, I know he can feel me as much as I can feel him.
I expect him to scold me or shoo me away, but he does neither. Our eyes remain locked, and he never breaks contact. I’m so turned on; every part of my body is on fire. I feel like I’m going to implode.
Unable to stop myself, I draw my thumb to my bottom lip and glide it along my ripened flesh. It’s a poor substitute for what I want, but it feels good nonetheless. Sin growls, watching me as I slip the tip into my mouth. I twirl my tongue around it, imagining it’s him I’m tasting.
His eyes widen, and the veins in his neck pop as a smothered growl escapes him. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was turned on, but that’s ridiculous, isn’t it?