by Lane Hart
She starts to cry out but stifles it by clamping her mouth down on her forearm like a good girl.
…
Riley
I gasp each and every time Mr. Harrington slams inside me, unable to do anything else because my arms and legs have turned to jelly. And I really need to find out his first name now that he’s fucking me like a wild animal, his balls slapping my ass with each hard thrust. Damn. I knew he was hot, but I had no idea he would fuck like this. I took him for the slow and gentle, make love type of guy. Boy, was I wrong, but I like it anyway.
Leaning over me, his chest pressed to my back, nearly flattening me to the bed, he tells me between strokes, “This is what you do to me. Only you,” as if he’s reading my mind.
And if that’s true, then I like that it’s only me who makes him want to fuck this hard and fast. My teeth are definitely gonna leave marks in my arm from biting down to keep from screaming aloud. It’s that fucking good. Either I’ll have to tell the girls that a small shark bit me, or wear long sleeves.
He slaps my ass hard and then grabs the back of my hair, turning my head to the side so my mouth is no longer covered.
“That was for the thong.” Smack. “That was for making me so hard all day and night.” Smack. Smack. Smack. “That’s for being such a dirty little slut. Dammit, I had to be inside your pussy so bad I forgot the fucking condom.”
Shit. I didn’t even think about a condom either. No wonder he feels better inside me than any other man. There’s nothing between his flesh and mine. I clamp my slick walls down on his slick cock, making him curse above me. Fuck, that feels good.
His mouth finds my neck and covers it in hot, wet kisses.
“Can I come inside you, sweetheart? Tell me it’s okay,” he begs urgently. He pounds inside me so hard that while we have started out in the middle of the bed, we’re now almost to the headboard. With my weak limbs and his weight on top of me, I’m no longer on my hands and knees but have ended up flat on my stomach with him riding me.
“Riley?” he asks, his voice sounding pained.
He wants to come bad, unable to hold off much longer, and I want him to do it inside me.
“Yes, it’s okay,” I finally answer his question with a nod since I’ve been tested several times and I’ve been on the birth control shot ever since the “incident.”
When he slips his hand between me and the mattress, it’s like he somehow knows exactly what I like and what I need. His magical fingers find my clit again with precision, making me moan and buck underneath him.
“Give it to me,” he orders through gritted teeth while he plays with me with one hand and pulls my hair with the other. “Milk my cock with your sweet pussy.”
“Oh, God,” I gasp as I shatter apart for him, yet again.
His hot, thick release comes right behind me in gushing waves that are in sync with my own. He slams inside me two more times before his body shudders and then stills above me.
With the softening of his cock, everything changes.
I can tell just by the sudden tension and silence in the room, other than our labored breathing. The musty stench of sweat and sex in the air is nearly suffocating, a blatant reminder of how we both thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. But now it’s over.
One of two things is about to happen. He’ll stick around and cuddle with me, just because he thinks it’s required to convince me to do this again, or he’ll bail on me right away, ignore me for the rest of the week, and pretend we didn’t have sex so hot it burned up the sheets. Please don’t let it be the second one.
“No one needs to know about…this,” he finally says. “I’ll deny it if I have to.”
His words are like frigid water poured down my spine, turning what we just did into something shameful, like he already regrets it and doesn’t trust me to keep my mouth shut.
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on telling Sara how good of a fuck her dad is,” I reply tersely when my eyes begin to sting.
“Good, and I can assure you that this won’t happen again,” he says before he pulls his cock out of me and climbs off the bed to redress. He doesn’t say another word before I hear the bedroom door open and close again with his departure, not a moment later.
Wow.
Absolutely amazing sex followed by one of the most awkward and hurtful post-coital conversations ever.
What did I think would happen? That I could be more to a man than a good time? That just because the sex was hot, I’m worth more than a single-use?
I’ve never felt wanted for anything other than what my body can offer. It’s the only thing I’m good at, but maybe that’s not even true. By the time he made a mess inside of me, he had already decided that he doesn’t even want me again.
Chapter Six
Brody
I’m a pussy for leaving the house early this morning and heading to the studio, even though I closed it this week to spend time with Sara. There’s some work I probably need to catch up on, mail orders or whatever, but mostly I’m hiding. Hiding from what I did last night.
Was the sex good?
Hell yes. Good doesn’t even begin to describe how incredible it was.
Was I a complete and total asshole?
Fuck yes. Not only was I way too rough with Riley, something I’ve never been with a woman, but I took my self-loathing out on her as soon as it was over. I blamed her for tempting me, turning me into a depraved animal. And that was wrong. It wasn’t her fault that I was so goddamn horny that I practically attacked her.
Never in my life have I laid a hand on a woman, not even in a bedroom roleplay way. Last night I pulled Riley’s hair, slapped her ass so many times I lost count, and called her a dirty little slut. It was like I became someone else with her, someone…half-crazed. Possibly fully crazed.
I owe her an apology, but if I apologize, that means I have to acknowledge what we did and I’m not ready to do that yet.
Besides, I’m scared of being alone with her for even a few minutes. I don’t trust myself not to try and touch her again. She reels me in with her tight body and sexy flirting. Although, that will likely change after how I treated her last night.
Maybe I’m turning into some old pervy man who preys on much younger women. But I haven’t even noticed the other girls with Sara. I couldn’t tell you their names or hair colors…nothing, except I’m pretty sure there are two of them.
So, great, I’m not becoming a total creep. I just have a slight obsession with one girl in particular.
No, I need to forget about her. I need to focus on spending time with my daughter, and try to survive the rest of the week without succumbing to the sexy temptress again.
…
Riley
“What’s wrong?” Cheryl asks as the four of us sunbathe in a row of lounge chairs on the beach.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
“Liar. You’ve been moping all morning.”
“Just haven’t been sleeping much,” I tell her, rather than provide the truth. Normally I tell my best friend about any makeout sessions or hookups, but I won’t tell her about this. The fact is, I wouldn’t even know where to begin since I’m not exactly sure what happened.
We had sex and it was good; that truth doesn’t change, even in the light of day. Not even once did being with Mr. Harrington remind me of being used and abandoned on a baseball field. No, what he and I had was so much more intimate and passionate than the impersonal, heartless fucking this past spring.
What I’m not sure of is why he became so angry once it was over. Did he regret it so soon? Was it not good for him?
No, it can’t be that. Despite all my questions, that one is not up for consideration.
The sex was incredible. It was the ‘after’ part that left me feeling hurt and…confused.
I know all about how most single men roll. They want one-night stands and usually don’t want you to stick around and sleep in their bed all night. In and out is how they work. So why did I expect anything di
fferent from Mr. Harrington?
Dammit, I don’t even know his first name! He’s right. I am a slut for sleeping with a man whose name I don’t even know.
Deciding to actually do something about that, I get up from my chair, and grab my beach towel and suntan oil to head back inside the house.
“Where are you going?” Cheryl asks, looking up at me through her big sunglasses.
“Going inside to cool off and take a nap,” I reply.
“Now? We were about to go over to hang out with Clint and his friends,” she says.
This morning, Clint and his dog Roger walked over, and he stopped to talk again. The girls all excitedly took him up on the offer to come by for hot dogs at lunch.
“You should go on without me,” I assure her. “I’m just not feeling very social.”
“And now I’m really worried,” she replies. “You’re the social butterfly, Riley. It’s not like you to turn down a get together with hot, shirtless guys.”
I glance back at the house, wondering where one particular hot, shirtless guy is, and if he left because he’s avoiding me.
“Guess it’s time I start growing up, right?” I say before I make the hike through the sand dunes and up the steps of the house.
Once I’m inside my room, I change into my pajama shorts and an oversized tee, then grab my phone and stretch out on the bed. In the search engine, I type in “Harrington photography in Topsail Island.”
Boom.
The first result is the website for “A Face in the Crowd Photography.” I know before it loads that it’s his because he named it after another Tom Petty song, just like the house’s name.
Sure enough, the site says that the studio is owned and operated by a Brody Harrington. The photographs on the walls here in the house have a small lighthouse logo and the initials BH on them, so it must be him.
Brody.
The name fits, so masculine and strong. It reminds me of the word brooding, which he seems to do a lot of. Most likely because his daughter is a little shit.
I scroll through his images for sale, in various sizes from five by sevens to canvases and gigantic wall pieces. They’re all beautiful outdoor photos, mostly beach and ocean-related, and the emotions they inspire are mind-blowing. It’s as if he puts a piece of his heart and soul into the animals and inanimate objects. The photos fill me with a sense of peace and calm. They’re so calming that I yawn into my palm as the weight of my days and nights of exhaustion finally hit me.
…
Brody
“Sara?” I call out as I walk through the beach house. The chairs out front on the beach are all empty and the girls are not on the balcony. Since Sara’s convertible is still here, I assume they must have walked down the beach.
Why does that thought gnaw on my stomach like acid so badly? They’re grown and as long as they’re all together, they should be perfectly fine wherever they venture out to.
Oh shit!
That asshole and his dog from yesterday…
I remember Riley telling him she and her friends might stop by.
Those guys could be assholes for all the girls know. As Sara’s father, it’s my responsibility to walk down the beach and check on them to make sure they’re okay. Not because I’m jealous, imagining Riley flirting with one of them in one of her skimpy bikinis. Nope. That has absolutely nothing to do with why I go back outside and down the steps, slipping my shoes off before I start tromping through the sand.
Just a few houses down, I find the group sitting together under a canopy. At least they’re protected from the sun.
As I get closer, I start counting and realize that there are only three girls in the group and at least four guys.
Someone’s missing, and it only takes a moment to realize the gang is short one sexy brunette.
Where the fuck is Riley?
My blood pressure skyrockets as I look back to the yellow beach house behind them, wondering if she went inside with one of these fuckers. If so, I will go in there and drag her ass out!
“Dad?” Sara says, raising her sunglasses to the top of her head as I approach.
“Is she in there?” I ask through gritted teeth, pointing over to the house that I’m ready to charge into.
“Who?” Sara asks wrinkling her brow in confusion.
Fuck. I need to calm the hell down and stop acting like a jealous lunatic. Otherwise I should just go ahead and hire a plane to write, “I fucked Riley” in the sky.
“Aren’t you one girl short?” I ask more calmly, taking deep breaths to try and bring my anger down a few notches.
“Riley’s back at the house,” one of the other girls with short brown hair speaks up. Her amber eyes seem to hold more understanding in them than I like. “She wasn’t feeling good this morning,” the girl adds.
“Oh,” I mutter in relief, before my anger switches over to worry, hoping she’s not sick. “Well, you girls don’t know these boys so you shouldn’t go in their house.” I’m beginning to sound like a pain in the ass father in front of their friends, so I add, “You can all come back to the house if you want.”
“Thanks, Dad, but we’re fine,” Sara grits out. Looking away, she lowers her sunglasses over her eyes, effectively dismissing me.
“Good. Glad you’re all safe,” I reply, before turning around to head back to the house. I’m pretty sure I hear the dickhead with the dog ask, “Are you all sisters?” Most likely because Riley told him I was her father as a joke.
Back at the house, I go straight up to her bedroom and find her door open. I raise my hand to knock but freeze when I see Riley. She’s stretched out on top of the covers, asleep, like she wasn’t planning to take a nap but drifted off right then and there, her cell phone still in hand.
Stepping back out into the hallway, I grab a fleece blanket from the linen closet and take it back into her room to cover her up. She doesn’t even stir.
Before I leave her, I can’t resist easing my palm down over her forehead just to make sure she’s not feverish, after one of the girls said she didn’t feel good. Her temperature is perfect, so I leave her room that still smells like our sex from the night before and tell myself not to go back.
Chapter Seven
Riley
I wake up after what I’m certain was a century-long nap, feeling well-rested for the first time since I can remember. The sun is still up, shining through the bedroom’s glass door that I keep the blinds open on for one particular reason, so I must not have been out too long.
When I roll over to look out at the ocean, I notice the soft, blue and white blanket draped over me. Either one of the girls came in here while I was passed out, or…
The house is silent, so Sara, Allison, and Cheryl must still be on the beach. Does that mean that Brody is home?
I roll out of bed and freshen up in the bathroom, brushing my hair and washing my face to wake myself up before I go and look for him.
Pots and pans rattling around in the kitchen tell me where he is.
Brody’s back is to me as he washes dishes, his gray tee molding to the muscles of his upper body, and his shorts are similar to the ones I took off him last night. I could stand here and watch his backside all day, although I would rather he be naked while I did it.
“Hey,” I eventually say in greeting before he sees me just standing there, staring.
Glancing over his shoulder, he gives me a quick onceover and then turns back to his chore. “Hey. Sorry if I woke you.”
“No, you didn’t.” I climb up on one of the wooden stools at the bar.
Brody switches off the water and reaches for a dish towel, drying his hands before he turns around and faces me, resting his back against the counter.
“I owe you an apology for last night,” he starts, without making eye contact.
“Damn, right you do,” I mutter, causing his gaze to finally lift to mine. “Please, continue,” I tell him with a wave of my hand.
“That’s not me. I’m not sure what g
ot into me and I’m sorry for being too rough when we were, well, you know.”
That’s not exactly the apology I was expecting. “In case you didn’t notice, my four orgasms were all the proof you needed that I like it a little rough.”
Brody’s sea green eyes widen. “Oh,” he mumbles. “Either way, I shouldn’t have pursued you, so I hope we can move past that while you’re here the rest of the week.”
“Nope. Uh-uh,” I say, not letting him off that easy. “You still haven’t apologized for being an asshole.”
His lips part as his brow furrows. “But you just said…”
“Not the sex, but how you acted after it was over,” I prompt, raising my eyebrows.
“Right. That.” He clears his throat while studying the floor. “I was angry and disappointed in myself for my lack of restraint, so I may have taken it out on you.”
“Ya think?” I scoff sarcastically. “I would never tell anyone, and it’s not like you took advantage of me. I’m a big girl, Brody.”
He looks up at the sound of his name and flashes me a smile that could melt polar icecaps. “Guess you finally figured out my name, huh?”
“You could’ve just told me your first name any time over the past two days, but I think you like it when I call you…something else.”
Brody’s smile disappears and his eyes darken, telling me that if I were to put my hand down his shorts, I would find him getting hard.
Good, so he does still want me; he’s just being stubborn.
Turning his back to me, maybe even to hide his arousal, he says, “Let’s try and forget that happened. I’m sure the girls will be back soon.”
“I bet they will,” I agree easily. “A shame too,” I say, baiting my hook. “With no one else here, we could’ve been as loud as we wanted.” Brody’s back tenses as I cast my line. “But then you said it wouldn’t happen again so, oh well.”
“No, they could walk in any second,” Brody replies, bracing his hands on the sink counter with his head bowed, trying to talk himself out of it. Too bad he’s already circling, nipping at the bait. All I have to do is get him to sink his teeth in so that I can reel my line in.