Bad Boy Blues (Get Wilde Book 3)

by Amelia Wilde

  Alyssa braces, waiting for me to slam into her, but I don’t. I hesitate, the head of my cock just brushing against her folds.

  She waits for another moment, then wriggles in front of me, trying to push back on me from the front. I slide one hand around to the flat surface of her belly and then down until the pad of my fingers meet her clit and rub in neat little circles that I know will drive her wild.

  Her head immediately goes toward the surface of the bed and she tenses, little moans escaping her. She puts her hand to her mouth, biting down on one of her knuckles, probably to stop herself from being heard.

  I lift my other hand from her hip and bring it crashing down against her ass. She yelps, the mark a deeper red atop the pink from earlier, and then rocks against my hand, then back against my cock. “Let me hear you.”

  After that, she doesn’t try to stifle herself.

  What the hell is the point, anyway? All over this mansion, I’m sure people are fucking and getting fucked. And none better than Alyssa is right now, none with more passion, more heat.

  I rub at her clit until she’s right on the edge, a new gush of wetness on the head of my cock, and then I remove my hand. She takes a breath in, starts to say “no,” and that’s when I thrust into her with all my strength.

  I grip her hips in my hands and pull her back onto my cock with every single movement, going in deep, holding her so tight she can’t get away. And though she writhes on my cock, her pussy pulsing around me, her cries only get louder and more breathless. She spreads her legs a little wider, pushes back a little harder, and I take a deep breath in, the feel of her in my hands like going home.

  It’s all I can do not to lose control of myself in this moment. I’ve already lost the part of me that’s pissed at her, that hates her for what she did—but that part was so small that it hardly put up a fucking fight.

  All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is for her to be mine, like she is right now.

  Mine.

  “You’re mine,” I say, my tone harsh, and it only makes her crazier, only makes her thrust back against me with renewed power. “Say it!”

  “I’m yours!” she gasps, and I tighten my hold on her, so tight I hope there’s a mark where my hands were, where my hands should have been all along.

  I’m so close to the edge.

  I release her hips with one hand and put my fingers back on her clit. She’s instantly moaning, the sound coming from deep in her throat, and I’m relentless, rubbing in concentrated circles around her most sensitive spot, and she bucks against me, making it a challenge to keep her in place.

  I love a fucking challenge. You can’t keep me away from a challenge.

  One more second, and Alyssa explodes onto my cock for the second time, and this time I can’t keep myself in check. I slam into her with all my remaining force and come hard, so hard that my leg muscles clench and tighten, every muscle in my body involved and screaming with release.

  It’s so intense that for a minute my vision blacks out. I can’t see anything—I can only feel her in my hands, still rocking back against me, still mewling, a sexed-up kitten who used to be the very image of Marylin Monroe, and it’s the best fucking thing that’s happened to me since she left me standing at the doorway of my dorm room two years ago.

  My heart beats hard and fast in my chest. We’re frozen in place until I put an arm around her waist and scoop her to the side, both of us collapsing onto the bed, chests heaving, trying to catch our breaths.

  The only thing is—I don’t want to. I want to stay in this breathless, hyped up moment with her forever.

  11

  Alyssa

  My heart races, even as my breathing slows and my muscles relax against Jackson’s body. I can feel his own heartbeat against my back, where his tone chest meets the curve of my spine. I can feel every breath he takes.

  Why the fuck does it have to feel so right?

  His arm is curled around my waist, just above my hips, draped just so. There was a certain way I couldn’t stand to be touched after sex—an inch too high, and it felt like being tickled; an inch too low, and the weight against my hips became too heavy. Nothing has changed, and the pressure of his embrace is—as it always was—fucking impeccable.

  Where our skin meets, a kind of electricity dances, so much so that I can’t entirely fall sleep, can’t allow my mind to drift off—but what happened between us was so intense and raw that I can’t bring myself to full consciousness either.

  I don’t know how long I drift in that space between sleeping and waking, but at some point I forget.

  I forget that I ever broke up with Jackson.

  I forget that we’ve spent the last two years apart.

  I forget that it’s Halloween, and that we’re in a professor’s mansion at an exclusive party.

  I forget about Delta. I forget about the Alphas. I forget about being the Harvest Queen.

  Here, in this room, none of those things matter anymore. All that matters is the skin-to-skin contact I’m sharing with Jackson, the sweet, spicy scent of him, the way his breath is hot on the back of my neck.

  When I finally come out of it, it’s because I start to notice the sound of the fire crackling in the fireplace. It seems odd that we’re not both sweating to death, given the size of the room—it’s spacious, but not overly large. I open my eyes and look down my nose at it. Either it’s a crazily realistic fake fireplace or the temperature control in here is off the charts.

  I guess if you can afford to own a mansion, you can afford nice touches like that.

  I start to shift and stretch, and immediately Jackson tenses.

  “Don’t,” he murmurs against the back of my neck.

  “I’m just stretching.”

  I don’t even want to speak too loud for fear this moment might shatter and collapse on us. For a minute I have to hold myself back from literally pinching myself—is this some kind of wild fever dream that I had instead of attending this party?

  No, it’s real—as real as Jackson himself, who keeps a hand on me while I raise my hands high above my head, savoring the delicious feeling of being just-fucked in just-the-right-way. I finish it off by pointing my toes toward the foot of the bed, for the first time noticing the elaborate scenery painted on the ceiling.

  “Wow—look at that shit.”

  Jackson turns onto his back, eyelids fluttering. When he gets them open at last, he peers up at the ceiling. “Who the hell is this guy?”

  “Mystery Professor.”

  “No, he has a name—I remember it from the invitation. Liam Henderson. But who the hell is he? He can’t have bought this place on a professor’s salary.”

  I shrug, linking my fingers through Jackson’s, our clasped hands resting on my belly. “Maybe he’s old money.”

  “He must be.”

  We fall into a comfortable silence, our eyes tracing the drawings above our heads. In the firelight, they almost look alive—the tiny tree branches seem to flicker in the wind, and the realistic animals are almost trembling with life.

  It kind of creeps me out.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Let me grab my phone.”

  Jackson pushes himself upright on the bed, then leans down and kisses me. He tastes like champagne with an undertone of mint. I want to taste him forever, but…I also need to know if we’ve accidentally spent the entire night here. That would be awkward.

  “Just after one a.m.,” says Jackson from the foot of the bed.

  I can’t help but sigh. “Late.”

  He gives me a wicked grin. “It’s never too late.”

  “Not yet, but…soon. Soon it’ll be late. Don’t you think people will be looking for us? I came with Jeannine.” I realize too late that he has no idea who Jeannine is. I didn’t exactly keep him updated on all my new sorority friends.

  “Has she texted you?”

  I follow him off the foot of the bed and find my phone in the little purse, which I completely forgo
t about the instant it came off my shoulder along with the rest of my clothes. There’s not a single text from Jeannine. She must be busy elsewhere in the mansion, although if I know Jeannine, she’s probably still in the middle of the dance floor, sweating her costume off, grinding against the hottest guy she can find.

  Jackson’s hands sliding down my sides distract me from the phone. “Is she worried sick?”

  I drop the phone to the carpet and turn in his arms, putting my hands on either side of his face and pulling him in for another kiss. His cock twitches between us, hard as a rock already, and I know in that moment I’m not going anywhere.

  And why would I? There’s a tiny voice in the back of my head that’s still fucking protesting, still telling me that it would be smarter to get out now, while my heart and life are still intact, but my body wants more of Jackson.

  My body will always want more of Jackson.

  But if I can only have him tonight, then the last thing I’m going to do is push him away, tell him that we have to end things for the sake of—for the sake of what? Finding Jeannine, who is fine without me?

  Not a chance. I’m just going to pull him closer.

  12

  Jackson

  It’s slow this time, slow and soft. We take our fucking time. Like we have all the time left in the world.

  I completely ignore the fact that with every moment that ticks by, we’re running out.

  Sooner or later, we’re going to have to leave this room, go back to the party downstairs. Will we part ways there, or will it be some fucked-up scene outside the mansion’s entrance? Or will Alyssa just walk away from me, like she did two years ago?

  I shove all the thoughts to the back of my mind, where they can’t ruin what we have here in this room, and concentrate all my attention on fucking Alyssa like we’ve been together for always. This is what it would be like after a long weekend spent together, doing whatever the hell we pleased. With her, I wouldn’t need to troll the bars looking for the girl on the fringe, the one with dark, asymmetrical hair and a glare for any man who can’t handle her. I wouldn’t have to spend my nights driving reckless down the highway, trying to find solace in speed.

  We used to do all that shit together. Of course we did. But the real high was being together. Even holding hands with her was like sex, the way our fingers intertwined, the way she never stopped squeezing, stroking.

  She stretches and arches underneath me as I fuck her, languidly, like this night is never going to end. It seems like we’re caught in a timeless place where nothing matters. Nothing at all, except my cock sliding in and out of her slick pussy. Nothing at all, except bringing her slowly—ever so fucking slowly—to the edge, and then over, twice, and then three times.

  Alyssa melts in my hands. By the time I bring her to a trembling third orgasm, her eyes are closed and her mouth is slightly open, and she pants in time with my strokes.

  It’s unbelievable that we ran into each other here, at this party, out of all the places on campus. It’s even more unbelievable that she walked right up to me and took matters into her own small, delicate hands. But she’s not as delicate as she looks. She never has been.

  This flawless being beneath me on the bed is a far cry from the girl I used to know—the girl with hard edges and a strange light in her eyes, who snuck out of her parents house to go to parties with me in the middle of the week, who never backed down from a dare. Alyssa now is almost too perfect, in a way—with all those edges smoothed out, would I even know her anymore if we weren’t stripped down like this, totally exposed to each other?

  “Oh, my god,” she says, her voice low and breathy, and she puts her hands on my shoulders and holds on tight. “How did I ever…how did I ever…”

  “How did you ever what?” The question comes out softer than I’d intended, the words more broken, because once again, I’m right on the edge. Right there…

  I can’t remember the last time I came twice in one night. It must have been with Alyssa, because not since then has anyone turned me on this much. Nobody I’ve ever run across at the bars, or at the parties where the music is too loud and everything seems almost illegal, has ever captivated me as much as she is captivating me right this goddamn instant.

  There’s a middle ground.

  There’s a version of Alyssa that’s not quite the reckless bad girl I used to know—not in her regular life, anyway—but not quite the beauty queen sorority girl, either. I know it like I know the sun rises in the fucking morning.

  I can see a glimpse of it right now, as she rocks her hips up into me in just the way that I like—the way that drives me crazy, even at this slow, thoughtful pace—and I’m up and over the precipice again, coming just as hard as before and collapsing forward, my face buried in Alyssa’s collarbone.

  I let my entire body relax into her for as long as I can allow it, right up to the moment where I feel like I must be crushing her, and then I get up, hop off the end of the bed, and stretch my hands toward the ceiling.

  Yeah, this might all come tumbling down like a piece-of-shit house of cards, but right now I feel energized. Victorious. There’s a little tinge of disappointment, too—an advance regret that this night is going to end—but right now I’m savoring it.

  Alyssa laughs from the bed, her giggle just a little bit sad, and she joins me on the carpet, stretching her sinuous body in front of me, her curves playing in the firelight.

  God, it’s a gorgeous sight.

  Then she puts her hands on her hips and looks down at the clothes strewn about the room. “You want to help me with mine, or should we just go it alone?”

  I snatch up her dress from the floor before she can reach for it and give her the half-smile that I know will bring a grin to her face. “And pass up the opportunity to see you naked for another five minutes? I don’t fucking think so.”

  “You think it takes me five minutes to put on this dress?”

  “I can make it take five minutes.”

  She laughs, and I step over to her, pulling it slowly over her head, the fabric bunched in my fists. I stop every other moment to kiss the side of her neck, to nibble at her earlobe, to lick the line of her shoulder. By the time the dress is back on, the hem tugged neatly down toward the floor, she’s shivering with what looks like delight.

  “Okay,” she says, a smile in her voice. “You win.”

  13

  Alyssa

  I never thought that putting a dress on could be as sensual as taking it off, but once again, Jackson proves me wrong. The only problem is that, as soon as the fabric is over my head, I want to tear it off, push him backward onto the bed, and fuck him until the sun comes up. Maybe longer.

  But I get the sense that if he brings me to the edge again—and he would, more than once—I might melt into that comforter and never get up again. Then my life would be ruined. I have to shake my head a little to remind myself that this is someone’s house. Eventually, the party is going to end, whether we like it or not.

  It’s time to face the rest of our lives.

  Jackson stands in front of the fireplace, slowly putting his clothes back on. I mourn for every inch of flesh that’s covered, breathing a little sigh of relief when he pushes the sleeves of his shirt back up, revealing the tattoos on his forearm. At least I can see those for a little while longer.

  I find my shoes near the doorway and bend to fasten the straps. When I look up, Jackson is staring at me, an indescribable expression on his face.

  “You ready?” His voice is soft, almost regretful.

  No. I’m not fucking ready. I want to get back into bed with him right now. If not this bed, then another one. Wherever he’s staying is good enough for me.

  Ugh, what am I thinking? This is a fling. This is one night of fun before I go back to the life I’ve painstakingly built for myself over the last two years. I’m not that girl anymore—the girl with the edgy haircut, the girl who did anything and everything just to get a rise out of society. That’s not me.


  Except…on the inside. Except a few parts of me that have survived to see firelight in this room, with Jackson. Turns out it doesn’t matter that I learned how to use a hair curler and stand up straight. It doesn’t matter that I learned how to be friends with other women instead of hating them fiercely the moment I saw them.

  “Yes.”

  Time slows down while Jackson makes his way across the room toward me. Why did I do that, anyway? Why did I leave him?

  The answer comes to me with such clarity that I’m fucking surprised I’ve never thought of it before. Because I wanted that. I wanted a clean, bright life, one that wasn’t infused with quite so much risk. And when the opportunity came I seized it. Of course I did. Half the girls on my floor—including my roommate, who was the kind of nice girl that I’d have hated in high school—went all in on rushing the sororities.

  What the hell made me change like that? I don’t know. Maybe it was being away from home for the first time, truly, in my entire damn life. Maybe I just got swept up in the excitement and never looked back. Maybe even then I sensed that it would be my only chance to shake everything up so completely. It was seductive as fuck—the stately houses, the built-in friendships, the way everything was easier, from talking to professors to meeting sexy guys.

  What I didn’t count on was how much I would miss Jackson. A small part of me misses the girl I used to be, but even when I was joyriding with Jackson and his friends at three in the morning on a school night, laughing too hard, the energy of the night pulsing through me, I knew I wouldn’t be that girl forever. All the fucks in the world couldn’t shake the idea that one day, I’d be a grown-ass woman—edgy, maybe, but successful nonetheless, not someone on the fringes of society, like I was now. Even when I was in the middle of all that, I knew that it was a passing phase.