by Gail McHugh
I’ve always known Amber defined crazy, that very characteristic the main reason the girl caught my attention. But this shit’s gone too far, her limitless trust in Brock reaching a whole new psychotic level as she continues to allow him to shave what I’m sure she’s unaware is the most goddamn beautiful pussy the big man above ever graced a woman with.
On a sated sigh, Amber twines her right arm around Brock’s neck, her fingers dipping in and out of his hair as she rests her left elbow on my thigh. Her eyes open, a coy smile flirting with her lips as she strums her nails over my knee. I suck in a breath, the soft, slow manipulation of her fingertips throwing me under the deadly wheels of her trance.
“You’re pale, Ryder,” she says with a giggle, “like, ghost white. Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” I rush a hand through my hair, cool with sounding like an overpossessive douchebag. “No, I’m not okay, peach. Besides not needing to be shaved—considering you’ve got minimal hair down there anyway—is what you’re letting him do to you even goddamn safe?” Not waiting for her reply, I look at Brock, my jaw hardening as I stab a finger at him. “Bro, no joke, if you hurt her—even just a little—I swear on my kid sister I’ll fucking kill ya.”
Instead of appearing even marginally defensive, Brock simply smirks, his demeanor as calm as an uninhabited lake as he pulls the razor from the water. “Here,” he says, handing it to me. “When I told you I was willing to share my girl that meant being able to partake in everything I do to her. You can shave her, if you want. That is, if she’s good with it.” He lifts Amber’s hair and kisses her neck, his voice smooth as aged brandy as he moves his mouth to her ear. “Feel like letting Ryder in on this?”
Amber slowly rises and rests her foot on the edge of the Jacuzzi, her hourglass shape shimmering with a thin layer of bubbles. I blink, my heart lurching as she buries a hand in my hair for support. Bared wide open—every glorious inch of her exposed to my hungry eyes—Amber looks down at me, her smile vanishing as she tilts her head. “Yeah. I think I’d enjoy that,” she says, an edge of nervous excitement cutting through her whisper. She reaches for my hand, my cock awakening as she guides the razor over the barely visible landing strip of hair positioned above her pussy. “I think I’d enjoy that . . . a lot.”
Beginning to tremble, I swallow, and fuck if it doesn’t feel like shards of metal are scratching down my throat, my unexpected reaction worse than a teenage boy who’s about to get laid for the first time as I try to think straight. I swing my eyes up to Amber’s as she waits for me to make a move.
No doubt there’s a certain amount of seduction involved in what she wants me to do to her, the lust shadowing her eyes enough to drive me to my knees alone. Hell, who am I kidding? There’s more than a certain amount of seduction, her request landing a first-place position on any straight man’s list of things he’d die to be asked to do by a woman, let alone one of Amber’s caliber. I’m one lucky bastard and I know it. Aside from participating in tonight’s pleasurable acts, this is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever had a girl ask of me, nothing else coming close.
Still, I can’t bring myself to do it, my cock warring with my mind as I release the breath trapped in my lungs. I yank back my hand, letting the razor slip through my fingers. It hits the water, sinking to the bottom of the Jacuzzi alongside my ego as I take in the confusion in Amber’s eyes. Though I’ve enjoyed a shit-ton of kink in my sexual lifetime—usually not giving a single fuck as to how I do it, where I do it, or the number of spectators observing me and my partner while we’re going at it—I’ve never done something so intimate to a girl, something I feel I can’t do to someone who doesn’t fully belong to me.
This here, folks, is a prime example of dropping the ball midplay. I stand and swipe a towel off the rack, wrapping Amber in it. “I want to, peach. Christ, you have no idea how much I want to, but I can’t.” Silence reigns, each passing second Amber stares at me with confused eyes making me feel like a bigger asshole. “But I don’t know. It’s just not . . . right.”
She touches my jaw, worry slashing her brows. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, something parallel to shame cracking her voice. “I shouldn’t have assumed you’d be okay with—”
“Nah, beautiful girl,” I interrupt, placing a kiss on her forehead as I help her out of the Jacuzzi, “don’t go apologizing for something I’m struggling with. It’s me, not you. Understand?”
Pensive, she nods, my words barely dousing the uncertainty torching her eyes. Great. I’ve officially reached the you’re a loser level in her mind. Mentally slapping myself upside the head, I watch as an equally confused Brock steps out of the Jacuzzi.
He knots a towel around his waist and drapes his arms over Amber’s shoulders from behind her, an entertained smirk replacing his confusion as a light chuckle pelts past his lips. “All righty, then. I’m curious as all hell, and have no goddamn clue what the fuck just happened with that one, but I’m too tired to ask. Tonight’s your lucky night, Ashcroft. I’ll leave it alone.”
“Good,” I growl through gritted teeth, my muscles strung taut with the need to bury him in a shallow grave. “It’s better if you don’t ask.” I scratch at the stubble coating my jaw, an entertained smirk tweaking my lips as Brock drops his arms from Amber’s shoulders. “Believe me, in the end, your face will thank you for keeping your asshole remarks and questions to yourself.”
“What the hell’s your problem?” Green eyes lit up, he circles Amber and steps in my face, his chest puffed out like a blowfish as he cocks his head to the side. “Because you pussied out on an opportunity any legit dude would give his last breath for, we’re supposed to suffer through your dramatic bullshit?” He sniffs haughtily, his smirk thinning into a hard line. “Yeah, I don’t think so, bro. Save that shit for someone who actually gives a fuck, because this asshole doesn’t. Believe me, your face will thank you for it in the end.”
Red.
All I see is red, visions of drowning him flashing through my mind. I suck in a measured breath, attempting to bring myself down a notch. It doesn’t work, not even close. If anything, it’s cranked me up, his threat spreading its poisonous vines through my mind, each branch further diseasing my thoughts. I clench my fists, my palms itching for his blood as I inch closer, daring him to make a move. I size him up, secure in my capability of destroying him, every lick of me positive I can put him to the ground. He might have me by an inch or so in height, but if it came down to it, the motherfucker wouldn’t last more than a couple of seconds with me—and that’s being generous.
“Why don’t we get ready for bed?” Amber’s suggestion zips from her mouth in a nervous rush, fear lacing her voice as she curls her hands around our biceps, clearly set on saving her dicknugget boyfriend from the worst beating of his life. “It’s been a crazy few hours, we’re all emotionally spent, and we have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow morning. Let’s just chill and call it quits, okay?”
With neither Brock nor I unfastening our glares from each other, silence—dark and menacing—swoops in, its evil wings bringing with it a tension so thick, so goddamn impenetrable, not even a jackhammer could break through it. However, Amber works her magic, her touch pulling us from our showdown as she moves her hands to our cheeks and gives us a playful look of reprimand. “Besides you two being best buds, this whole night was meant to relieve me of my insanity, not add to it. Don’t think I won’t kick both your asses if you ignore that piece of info and decide to go with the classic caveman pissing contest instead.” She presses up on her tiptoes and pops a kiss onto each of our jaws, her smile widening as she wags a disciplinary finger at us. “I might be smaller than you boys, but never underestimate my ability to kick some major ass. When I’m hyped up, I can throw a punch faster than a fiddler’s elbow.”
With twin grins threatening our mouths, Brock and I glance at each other then at Amber, wash, rinse, repeat as we attempt to keep our childlike game of
silence going. Try as we might, we crack, our “pissing contest” coming to a relief-filled end as we bust out laughing. Hard.
Amber slips out from in between us and crosses her arms. “What the heck’s so funny? You don’t believe I can kick some ass, do you?” She blows on her knuckles as she lifts her chin in defiance. “Care to find out for yourself, then, Ashcroft? Size—in this case—has nothing to do with shit. It’s speed that counts, how fast you can knock someone off guard before the battle begins. Everyone in the universe knows the first person to throw the punch wins the fight.”
I lose it, shaking with laughter as Brock falls apart beside me, chuckling as hard, if not harder.
“You sure do have a cute but odd way of describing shit.” Brock pets her hair. “A fiddler’s elbow? Really, Ber? Again, cute, but still odd as fuck, baby girl.”
“That’s what you two’ve been laughing at this entire time?”
“Hell yeah.” I give her towel-hidden ass a whack. She jumps with a squeal. “That, and you honestly thinking you can kick our asses. The delusional faith you have in being able to beat us down, without us letting you win, merits—at the very least—a C-plus.” I cup her cheeks, my mouth pressed to her forehead as I chuckle at her melodramatic sigh. “And if you run around telling people your punch is faster than a ‘fiddler’s elbow,’ then it’s you who’s gonna get dropped.”
She places a lingering kiss on my jaw, her tongue grazing my stubble before she slides it down my neck.
I tense, preparing myself for what, I’m unsure, but fuck if she doesn’t look like she’s about to rearrange my face, my cock next in queue on her mutilation list as she pulls back, gazing deep into my eyes. I try to play it off, acting as though the girl hasn’t burrowed herself beneath my skin. But she has, and she’s done so unlike any other before her. When Amber gets like this—pissed, playful, and dirty all at once—it’s nearly impossible not to bend her over and show her how I really feel, every attempt at playing it cool turning into one huge pile of worthless shit.
“Thanks for the mediocre grade, Mr. Ashcroft,” Amber purrs, something akin to revenge cutting through her eyes, “but this here student’s already kicked both her teachers’ asses.” This time around, Brock’s her target, her fingernails running down his chest as she works his neck like she did mine. He tenses worse than I did, the faggot’s breathing jumping past his lips as one of Amber’s many split personalities continues to keep me on heightened alert. Just to be safe, I cover my balls, my hands serving as a shield to my baby-maker as Amber licks a line up behind his earlobe. “But, sadly, they just don’t know I kicked their asses.”
“How so?” Brock asks, his question spoken through a groan as Amber sucks his lobe between her teeth. “Sorry, but I ain’t seeing any kind of ass-kicking going on in these parts of town.”
“No?” She steps back, her eyes turning sinister as her towel hits the ground, leaving her naked before us as she rests her hands on her hips. “How’s this for some unseen ass-kicking? Is the vision in focus, or do we need bifocals?”
Like two speechless idiots, Brock and I move our gaze up and down the length of her body, not a single comeback leaving our mouths as Amber lifts a triumphant brow.
“Hark. What’s that?” She spins on her heel, a giggle moving through the air as she starts for the bedroom. “Ah, that’s right. I believe I just kicked both your asses without even having to throw a punch.”
With nothing but her apple-shaped ass in my line of sight, I swallow, watching as Amber sways around the corner and into the bedroom.
Brock palms his neck, his voice grainy as he yanks his attention from the empty doorway. “Did she—”
“Just school us? Put us in our pitiful places? Show us the almighty power of pussy has spoken?” I sigh, a grin creeping across my face as I make my way into the bedroom. Amber’s already dressed in a pair of Hadley U sweatpants and sweatshirt, her smile lighting up the room as she gets cozy dead center of the California king bed.
“Now, now, boys,” she says, patting the mattress, her widened smile creating a new category for wiseassery as she slips beneath the silk sheets. “Don’t look so grim. Everyone needs a good ass-kicking every now and again.” With a stretch of her arms, she feigns a yawn. “Come on. This gal needs a little spooning right about now. Good?”
Brock dives onto the bed, entombing Amber in his embrace, the grizzly-like attack causing her to hoot out in bubbly laughter. I stroll over to the bed, unsure where I belong in this fucked Rubik’s cube of emotions the three of us have manufactured.
I scratch at the hairs lining my stomach, hesitancy softening my words as I pluck my briefs off the chaise lounge. “You two go ahead. I’m just gonna head on back to my suite.”
Amber casts me a look that crushes my heart. Steadfast, she untangles herself from Brock’s hold and sits up on her knees. “No, Ryder. You’re not leaving. You’re staying here tonight. In this bed. Next to me. That was the deal.”
“There was never a deal for what comes after, peach,” I point out, an edge of irritation cutting through my tone as I stare into soft, golden eyes. Soft, golden eyes my asshole statement’s brought what appears to be tears to. Fuck me. My heart crushes again. Still, my mouth keeps moving, my words meant to push her away, to hurt. “Deal?” I ask through a disdainful chuckle. “I think I sealed my end of the deal, no?” Hands gripping my hair, I move across the room, my head ticking back and forth as I throw on my pants and dress shirt. “Did what we all did not make you forget about your past? Unload some of that pain you’ve been carrying around?”
She jumps to her feet, fire in her whiskey irises as she follows me to the front door, stabbing her finger into my shoulder the entire time. “Turn the hell around, Ashcroft,” she demands, a hiss biting her breathless tone as my hand makes contact with the doorknob. Playing the dick this situation’s turned me into, I freeze, my need to make her sweat it out hardening my cock as I ignore her order. “Now, asshole. I’m not kidding. If you don’t turn the fuck around right now, then I’ll have no other choice but to show you the damage my punch will do to the back of that thick, idiotic, greasy skull of yours.”
Is there nothing the girl can say that won’t make me fall harder for her? This I highly doubt.
I turn, my gaze meeting hers with the same intensity it always has, the same I’m about to fuck the fuck right outta ya look it’ll forever possess.
An unsteady breath, followed by an unsteady step forward, and Amber’s chest is pressed to mine, our heart’s beating in bullet-fast sync as she takes my cheeks prisoner between her shaky hands. I try to look away, but she tightens her hold on my face, her eyes narrowed.
“What the hell’s your problem?” she asks through an aggravated huff. “Can’t handle the pressure?”
I slide my hands to her hips, gripping them as I try to contain my urge to kiss her until she begs me to stop. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“Now all of a sudden the genius is stupid?” she tosses back, her glare unwavering as she all but smashes her nose to mine. “It means exactly what I said. You’re a pussy, Ryder Ashcroft, a softy. The big, bad, tattooed, pierced former quarterback can’t handle the pressure of sharing me when he thought he could. You agreed to this setup as much as I did. Now all of a sudden it’s too much to take?”
At this point, I have two options, both I’m quite fond of.
One: strip her bare of her Hadley gear, bend her over the entryway table, and show her how unsoft I currently am, her anger hardening my cock by the second.
Two: repeat option one until she can’t take it anymore, her inability to walk straight, for at least a week, my top priority.
I decide on an unplanned option three, my mouth crashing down over hers with lightning speed. She reciprocates with the same angry passion as I tangle my fingers in her hair.
“I hate you,” she hums through a moan, her nails l
eaving their stamp on the back of my neck as she kisses me deeper, harder. “I swear to God I do.”
“Right,” I growl as I hike her leg up over my waist. “I can tell. I guess our hatred for each other is a mutual feeling, then, peach.”
A moan floats past her lips, her breathing choppy as I lift her off the ground, pressing her back to the cold mahogany door. “You’re staying here tonight,” she says, insistency thick in her rasp as she knots her legs around my waist. “I’m not kidding.” She pulls back and stares straight beyond my soul, a glimpse of sorrow drowning her eyes. “I need you to stay here. Don’t make me feel like you used me, that this was a onetime deal.” She pauses and my heart comes to a dead stop, my breath faltering as a tear slips down her flushed cheek. “I don’t want that with you. I—I don’t know what I want or how either of us is going to deal with any of this, Brock included. All I know, all I feel with everything that makes me, is you and I can’t be a onetime deal. We weren’t placed in each other’s lives to become that. God’s cruel, but I have to believe he has his moments.”
Before he died, my grandfather told me I’d know if I was falling for a woman based on my reaction to her words—that if it wasn’t just simply lust, and I was truly in way over my head, the girl would be able to demolish my senses the second not only her flesh connected with mine but the very moment she opened her mouth. As it stands, Amber’s already the keeper of each and every single one of my senses, the owner of every breath that moves in and out of my lungs. The potency of her touch, her smile, hell, her goddamn spirit, has blinded me from being able to see anyone else but her, her eyes a constant image playing in my head. She’s thieved my ability to hear, the angelic tune of her voice the only sound in my ears. Whether or not she’s near me, the scent of her skin lingers in my nose, my body incapable of smelling anything else but her sweet vanilla perfume.
Yeah, I’m in deep, every inch of me past the point of being in way over my head. What started out as lust for Amber is gone, my absolute need to have her by my side replacing it. This girl’s a rose amid a garden of weeds, her mind, body, and soul a representation of her beautiful petals. Though I know how to take care and love her in the purest way—which is constantly through the silence of time—I’m aware I have to tread lightly. One ugly tug on those petals, one uncareful touch, and she’ll fall apart, withering away, my fingertips bleeding from the painful prick of her thorns.