F*CK Reality: Take One

by Raegan Matthews

  “You have no idea,” he mutters as he brings the camera down from his shoulder and turns around to walk away.

  With Clive gone, I don’t enter the men’s room as I had planned. Rather, I lean my back against the wall and pull out my cell phone.

  The text Drew sent earlier still waits for an answer.

  Drew 03:42 p.m.: Are you still pissed at us? Thought I’d find out before booking a flight to see you in action, Romeo.

  I’ve got your Romeo, asshat.

  I don’t respond, not because I’m still pissed, but because my outgoing text to Brooke is my only focus.

  Me 07:48 p.m.: What are you up to?

  Straightening myself from the wall, I take a quick look around before heading back to Mary Ann. The immediate return of a text to my phone stops me.

  Brooke 07:49 p.m.: Hanging at the hotel bar with Addie and Ry. You’re on your date, I presume.

  Me 07:49 p.m.: Yes. An Italian Bistro. No one is talking about dogs. Mary Ann just told me how pigs are led to slaughter. She’s a vegetarian. I ordered Italian sausage.

  My summarization of this date sounds ludicrous. Then again, everything about this evening has been amusing. Either that, or I’m already starting to crack under the pressure.

  Brooke 07:51 p.m.: Hope you weren’t looking for her to give you a goodnight kiss. You’re devouring Miss Piggy right in front of her.

  Looking up and stifling my laugh, I see a gentleman coming toward me, so I stand to the side before responding. I’d enjoy some safe, friendly banter between us. Another piece of her to savor. However, as shitty as it is, I have a date to get back to.

  Me 07:52 p.m.: You got jokes?

  Brooke 07:52 p.m.: Lots.

  Me 07:53 p.m.: Come to my room tonight at 11.

  Her response is immediate.

  Brooke 07:53 p.m.: All right, Hannibal Lecter.

  Her humor is only funny because it’s not only awkward, but also distasteful. I smile briefly, then make my way back to Clarice.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  His name is Brock, and he fits me in every way.

  Brooke

  -

  “Yes, Dad. I’m being totally responsible. And I’m having fun,” I reassure him for the third time, all while sitting on Brock’s hotel bed watching him slowly undress.

  “Have you met the guy?”

  The guy.

  Funny how my dad insisted I fly out here, knowing I’d be meeting my possible marital match as it’s being aired on a semi-popular television network, yet he’s refused to acknowledge the star of this season has a name.

  “Brock,” I direct. “And yes, he’s very...” I stop mid-sentence as Brock’s shirt drops to the floor after he seductively unbuttoned it in front of me. “Nice.”

  “Nice?” my father mocks. “I thought you’d have something more to say than ‘nice.’ Brooke, sweetheart, are you okay?”

  Brock walks around the bed before I feel the mattress dip behind me. There, he positions himself on his knees and rests his chest against my back. Both hands trail slowly down my neck before he continues guiding them between the warm skin of my chest and bra.

  Sure, Dad. I’m okay. If I’m lucky, I’m about to be violated, too.

  I don’t express this, I just answer as calmly as I can. “No worries. I’m having a really good time.”

  Brock’s fingers twist both of my aroused tips, nearly to the point of pain before he strokes to soothe them with a gentle caress of his fingertips. I close my eyes and nearly avoid dropping the phone.

  All evening, as I sat around drinking and playing cards with Addie and Ryleigh, I stewed over knowing where Brock was. Not to mention, who he was with. I thought about his hands on me, just as they are now, and hated the fact that Mary Ann was, in fact, somewhere on earth with those hands.

  The promise for what was to come later tonight caused me to lose focus on a simple game of party gin. It was a mindless game that I didn’t care about losing.

  “All right, fine,” Dad declares. “I’ll tell your mother you’re ‘okay’ and that Brock is ‘nice.’ But really, Button, if you’re not okay and he’s not nice, you’ll tell me?”

  “Of course I will, Dad,” I reply, leaning my body forward then off the bed in order to break free of Brock’s delicious distractions. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Please,” he begs, as he always does.

  “I love you.”

  “Love you, too, Button.”

  The millisecond Brock overhears my father bidding his goodbye, the phone is snatched from my hand and tossed across the room. Thankfully, it lands on a pile of clothes with a quiet thud.

  “You threw my new phone!” I shriek, but I’m barely able to get the words out.

  As I’m psyching myself up to kick his ass, he forcefully turns me around and pushes my back to the mattress, only to then throw himself on top of me.

  “Someone’s date got him all worked up,” I quip as he unzips my jeans with haste, then pulls them down my legs in one swift, and obviously, practiced move.

  With fortitude, he runs his hands up my naked outer thighs, then counters my tease with, “Someone’s mouth needs to stop making so much fuckin’ noise so she can find a better use for it.”

  I gasp. Feigning insult, I dig further. “Mary Ann must not have put out. If she did, she wasn’t very good. You’re still all hot and bothered.”

  Brock sits, resting his ass on the back of his ankles. He looks over me for a few seconds, shamelessly surveying my best black-laced panties, then dives in to remove those, too. Before I can take off my shirt, or ask about his first date, his fingers pierce my inner thighs, holding them apart, as his mouth crashes down between them.

  Dear God, I’ll never get tired of his mouth.

  “Jesus,” I snap, feebly attempting to push my body up the bed to get away.

  All at once, Brock is too much.

  He’s having nothing to do with my escape. The added determination of his tongue, thrusting in and out as though he can’t get enough, is proof of this.

  I gasp at the incessant invasion.

  My neck arches and my fingers run through his thick mass of dark hair. He loves how I taste; he’s told me this. I love how he tastes me. Fast then slow and all the ways in between.

  He moans, I sigh. He sucks, I gasp. The tormenting pleasure pulls me forward then pushes me back. There’s no set rhythm to his ministrations. Brock is everywhere.

  A small echoing yelp breaks from my throat as soon as I feel his thumb adding pressure to my backside.

  For as long as Jason and I were together, he never explored that area. Most likely, Jason assumed it was a no-go, as even he admitted he wasn’t always gentle. With this being only the third night I’ve had with Brock, to include our drunken frenzy, I don’t feel safe enough to go there with him...yet.

  “Stay still,” he growls, “until I’m finished.”

  So. Freaking. Bossy.

  His thumb breaches the entrance and my jaw, along with every other muscle in my body, clenches.

  “Brock,” I bid sternly, staring up at the ceiling and hating that I’m going to lose my nearly sated status.

  And seriously, why are men so greedy?

  “I won’t,” he bites out, obviously noticing I’m tense. With his reassurance, my body relaxes. Until he adds, “But fuck me, Brooke, I want to.”

  Shit.

  “Let me on top,” I bait, hoping to sway his intent.

  “When I’m finished,” he hisses. I’m coming to learn Brock doesn’t like to be interrupted.

  Another finger replaces his tongue, callously dipping inside before searching to find the spot I know he works so well. His tongue flattens against then teases my swollen clit. Brock’s warm breath cascades along my already heated flesh.

  The stubborn man is making a meal of this.

  “You call my name when you come, Brooke,” he brazenly instructs. “Loud and clear, baby. I wanna hear you scream.”

  Listening to hi
s encouragement, masked as invitation, my feet push themselves against the mattress. My hands grasp the sheets, my hips thrust harder against his mouth. With unrestrained abandon, I release a string of quiet curses before a weighted moan erupts from my parted lips.

  At the same time, my body is hanging precariously on the edge of sexual frenzy, Brock’s finger unexpectedly slides in to its fullest extent from behind.

  Never.

  Never amidst my most vivid sexual fantasies have I surrendered to such absolute submission. The stars are aligned, the twists of fate have gathered, and my body blazingly ignites. The perfect storm of desire, passion, lust, sex, and Brock are ruining me. An earth shattering guttural cry of ecstasy breaks from my chest—uninhibited and uncontrolled.

  Seconds pass, yet I can’t catch my breath. Thoughts cross, but I can’t understand them clearly.

  As soon as I open my eyes, I feel my face flush. Acknowledgment, embarrassment, and whatever else I’ve lost sight of come blaring to the surface.

  Oh God, no way I just did that.

  Crawling up along my body on all fours, Brock glares at me, but it’s with hooded eyes. His body blankets mine before kisses me with a passion I know he never has. I would’ve remembered this. Biting, licking, sucking, taunting. Again and again until neither of us can breathe.

  “That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life,” he anxiously declares. “Christ, you’re gorgeous when you come,” he genuinely praises. “I want inside you,” he demands before adding, “Deep, Brooke. So fuckin’ deep.”

  Well, when he puts it like that...

  “Condom,” he clips hastily.

  I could tell Brock now that on I’m on the pill and have been since I was fifteen due to irregular cycles. I don’t, though. Rather, I watch with unveiled attention as the muscles of his chest and arms grow tight when he reaches into the bedside drawer.

  “This’ll be quick,” he informs me as he rips the foil wrapper with his teeth.

  Chancing to lighten the intensity of his mood, I run my first finger along his jaw, while at the same time, he aggressively works to cover himself. “As soon as you know when your next date is, let me know so I can be ready when you’re done. I like having sex with you when you’re this worked up. It’s crazy hot.”

  “She mentioned pigs, Brooke,” he angrily spits. “Being led to slaughter, for fuck’s sake.”

  The startling realization that he spent his evening mentally dissecting animals makes me laugh. His typical ease in finding humor doesn’t follow.

  “Know what I did all night?” he teases, raising his hands over our heads and grabbing the top of the mattress for leverage. When he slides inside with furiousness, I gasp. “To escape her, I thought about fucking you.”

  I believe him, so does every inch of my body. His pounding is relentless, each drive harder than the last.

  “I thought about your mouth sucking my cock from under the table,” he hisses before biting down on the skin of my neck with frustration. “On the way home, I closed my eyes and thought of your ass. All the ways I wanted to take it, Brooke.”

  “Oh God,” I breathe, unable to keep up with his rhythm and wrapping my legs around him to hold us both steady.

  Without waiting to see if I’m close, Brock’s body locks in place, his cock settles just as promised, deep inside. He releases all he has with a loud moan. “Fuck, why are you doing this to me?”

  The room quiets. Neither of us put forth the effort to break the silence. His last compelling question leaves me speechless. His last vie for release has left him breathless.

  A full minute passes. I know, because I’ve subconsciously counted the seconds.

  “Fuck,” he whispers against the material of my shirt. It’s not until he does that I realize I’m still wearing it.

  Brock’s body shudders above mine. His hands finally release the mattress, and he positions his elbows on either side of my head. As he looks down, beads of sweat from his brow threaten to fall.

  His eyes are hazy, soft, and sincere. “I thought about waking up to you again,” he explains. “You left so fast this morning.”

  “I had to go,” I defend.

  Troubling times as this may be to explain what he doesn’t understand. I need to address what’s very recently been on my mind.

  “I can’t stay here every night. I have a best friend who came all this way to hang out with me. Not to mention a roommate who you’re bound to end up dating.”

  “Dating,” he grinds, pushing himself further inside me. My body is sensitive, sore, and tired. His eyes close, and he growls unsteadily into my neck, “Fuck me, you feel so fucking good.”

  Obviously, he has no intention of listening to anything I have to say. And yet, all the facts surrounding us remain true. Addie has been sitting in our room, hanging out with Ryleigh for the past two nights, delving out ridiculous excuses for my late night absences.

  Pressing forward, whether he wants to hear this now or not, I advise him in a whisper because the truth of the statement hurts to say. “And I’ll remind you, Mr. LaDuece, you’re here to pick a wife. The future Mrs. LaDuece awaits, remember?”

  His body locks, and he lifts his head from my neck to find my eyes. The dim light of his room offers little shield from the seriousness of his expression.

  “We can talk about all that,” he sharply informs.

  I don’t like his tone, especially not right now. Not when I can feel his dick continuously pulse inside me.

  “But not now. Now, I want to fuck you again. So, let go of whatever you’re thinking and stop talking about other women, or the possibility of other women while I’m inside you. Or anytime you’re in my bed.”

  I nod, feeling scolded for merely being honest.

  “Fuck it,” he continues in a rush. “Don’t mention other women ever when I’m with you.”

  He’s pissed.

  That’s exactly what this is.

  It’s a side of Brock I haven’t seen and shouldn’t have, at least not yet, considering we’ve only known each other a few days. His eyes are dark; the look of adoration I had gotten gazed on me earlier as I talked to my dad is gone. The impenetrable lust I heard in his voice has all but vanished, replacing it all is insult.

  “I’m sorry,” I try to soothe. “You’re right.”

  His features lose their tension, and he retracts his hips to pull out.

  “Glad that’s straight,” he says. “I’ll get rid of this, hydrate, then we can—”

  “Fuck.” I finish for him through a smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Say it again and again. And while I’m inside you, you’ll say it again.

  Brock

  -

  Jesus Christ, listening to Brooke curse is hot.

  Her crass words are a mix of insult, foreplay, and comedy all rolled into one. Hearing her say ‘fuck’ and labeling it as I did for exactly what I’m doing to her in my bed brings that simple word new meaning.

  “Repeat that,” I hiss, driving into her with powering thrusts I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. Once again, she’s got me too worked up. “Say it again,” I insist.

  I bite down on the soft skin of her neck. My finger runs over her clit three times in quick succession as my cock swells inside her. This gets the little minx’s attention.

  “Right now we fuck,” she breathes out on a gasp. “Got it.”

  Fuck, she is getting it. She’s getting everything.

  My cock.

  My mouth.

  My entire body.

  But, also my complete attention.

  Since the moment I met her, Brooke’s taken everything, all without a second thought. The nervous girl I first laid eyes on as she walked off the elevator into the swarming crowd of chatty women has acquired everything I have to give.

  The same woman who played disinterest in a bar full of men who couldn’t look away from her is clawing her way beneath my skin. As if this isn’t already enough, the woman I’ve
been inside of for the past three nights has let me take everything I want from her in return.

  Almost everything.

  “There,” she grinds out through her clenched jaw. “Don’t stop. I’m there.”

  She gives me only a second’s warning. With her ankles locked at my back, her body growing stiff, and my hands binding her hips to the mattress, I last only three more powerful thrusts before letting go.

  As my racing heart settles in my chest, beads of sweat fall from my temples. I lift my head to find Brooke looking as drained as I am.

  She’s biting her bottom lip, assuredly thinking of some smartass thing to say, but thankfully she holds it in. Once I’ve pulled out of her, I rest my cheek against her chest. She’s no longer wearing her shirt as she did the first time. Further proof Brooke’s slowly getting inside my head, as I prefer the women in my bed to be naked.

  “You’re staying the night again,” I suggest, albeit strongly.

  I’m not ready for her to leave. After my session of insanity, which was labeled as a first date, I appreciate Brooke’s company all the more. I’ve come to realize how alone I’m starting to feel, being in this city. Or maybe more so alone without her close.

  “Okay,” she softly replies. “I’ll stay the night.”

  Her fingers run through my dampened hair. Every time she does this I’m reminded of how good her hands feel anywhere they touch me.

  I close my eyes in weariness.

  “You’re still on top of me,” she says, squirming to get free.

  “Can you breathe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then settle, woman. I’m tired.”

  Laughing, she pulls the hair she was just messing, so I crane my neck to look up at her. Her eyes are glossy, and her eyebrows are furrowed. The late nights of a lot of sex and small conversation are beginning to take a toll, and it’s day three.

  When I reluctantly release her to stand, she drags the bed sheet up her body and gets comfortable. Her long hair looks good splashed against my sheets. Her half-smile as she looks at my chest is telling.