by Kay Maree
Flipping my long, curly blonde hair over my shoulder, I turn to Sophie and shrug. “Tell him the truth, I suppose.”
“Ah, I hate to say it babe, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
And she’s probably right. Telling the secret star of all of my teenage and womanly fantasies that you want one night with him before he enters into the sanctity of marriage with a psychotic, sociopathic she-bitch would be highly inappropriate. Especially considering that said star is my brother’s oldest and best friend, which will only make it awkward for him and humiliating for me when he turns me down.
Because let’s face it; a man who looks like, Jake, all six foot seven, two hundred and sixty pounds of solid muscle, covered in sexy black ink, who is smart, considerate, generous, and considered the most eligible bachelor in L.A. wouldn’t want someone like me. Why? Because no one wants quiet, shy, boring, Farrah, that’s why.
Before you ask, no, I’m not hideous. I do not need a paper bag to cover my face or plastic surgery to correct some horrible disfiguration. I’m just plain. Plain Jane, Farrah. Nothing remarkable to report. No redeeming feature to focus on. I’m just me, and I’ve learned to be okay with that.
With a best friend who looks like a supermodel just having walked off the catwalk and a new group of friends, each one more blindingly beautiful than the last, I don’t stand a hope in hell of attracting a man’s attention. Let alone his. Jake wouldn’t even look twice at me if it weren’t for the fact he’s known me my whole life and my brother is his closest friend.
Facing the cold, hard truth of my situation wasn’t easy. Learning to accept that the only man who has ever made me feel safe, yet so utterly alive at the same time will never be mine was even harder. But it had to be done. I had to get my head out the clouds and stop doodling Jake’s name in my notebook at some point, imagining white picket fences, adorable dark haired babies, and a partridge in a pear tree. That just wasn’t my lot in life. It never would be. Not with Jake, at least.
But being the good friend she is or not, considering what happens next, Sophie sees where my thoughts have gone and orders us a round or five of lemon drops, and that’s when things get hazy.
***
The hand behind my neck, pulls me closer, slamming my small body into his broad, powerful chest as his mouth collides with mine. His lips attack and his tongue plunders my mouth with the same desperation I feel thrumming through my veins at his touch.
I had gone to the bathroom after lemon drop number four, only to find myself hauled into the back hallway of the club we were in by a man I had a feeling I knew but couldn’t see through the shadows. I should have tried to stop him when he pushed me against the wall and started manhandling me, but something told me not to.
Maybe it was the sensation of his surprisingly gentle hands on my exposed skin or the way I could sense his eyes assessing my comfort level as he tore my panties from my body. Or possibly it was the way he hung on every moan, every whimper that slipped past my lips as he fondled my breasts. Who knows? But whatever the reason, I don’t think I could stop him now even if I wanted to. And just to be clear, I don’t. Want to stop him that is.
The top of my dress is pushed down beneath my breasts, leaving them bare and chilled by the cool air. The tip of mystery man’s tongue flicks at my engorged nipple as he teases it, making it impossible harder before sucking it deep into the hot recesses of his mouth.
“Oh. Oh, God,” I whisper as he slips his hand between us and runs one long finger through my already drenched pussy.
“I’ve been watching you all night,” he growls low in the back of his throat. “Seeing you dancing in this dress that hugs your perfect curves and shows off your tits, was almost more than I could handle. Every man in this club wanted to fuck you in this dress. They wanted to do exactly what I’m doing now, except they would never have gotten the chance. You were mine the second I saw you, and it's time you learned what happens when you tempt other men with what was intended to be for my eyes only.”
Evidence that this man finds me attractive lays thick and hard against my stomach. From the outline of his erection, the way it fills out his jeans, it is safe to say this guy is packing some serious equipment below the belt. His cock is huge and throbbing, his erection stretching above the waistband of his jeans, which has me licking my lips as I go over the logistics of how something that big will fit inside me.
There’s no more time to think, though, as mystery man spreads my legs and hoists me up, pinning me to the wall with his massive body. “Wrap your legs around my waist and hold on, beautiful,” he instructs, unfastening and pulling down the zipper of his jeans.
He doesn’t check if I’ve changed my mind, which I haven’t. He doesn’t stop to see if I’m ready for the beautifully brutal invasion of his thick cock. Instead, mystery man slides the head of his erection along my folds a few times before thrusting inside of me.
The noises of the club drown out my pained whimper at the burning stretch his intrusion causes. If he noticed my flinch or heard my muffled cries, he doesn’t say anything. And with every push and pull of his cock as he begins to fuck me earnest, my already tender pussy screams in agony.
On the list of ‘should have’s,’ I should have told this man I haven’t done this before. I don’t just mean sex with a random stranger, I mean sex at all. It isn’t like I haven’t wanted to or had the opportunity, I have. The reason for my lack of experience is that the man I had saved myself for all these years didn’t want me. He may not have said as much because let’s be honest, I never asked him outright, but he didn’t need to. Countless times, I had all but offered myself up to Jake on a silver platter, only to watch him turn his back on me and walk away.
With on hand on my ass and the other at my breast, tweaking my nipple, mystery man’s scent surrounds me. I recognize the cologne instantly, and again I’m reminded of Jake.
Why is it that when I’m desperately trying to forget him, I still manage to compare everyone to him? I suppose that’s what happens when you’re suffering from unrequited love, or at least, that’s what Sophie tells me. And she would know since she has a rather bad case of it herself.
“Fuck, you’re tight, sweetheart,” he growls just before he covers my mouth with his.
Refusing to let thoughts of Jake ruin my moment with this man, I thread my fingers through his hair and kiss him back like my life depends on it. And damn if this man doesn’t know how to kiss.
His lips are firm, yet soft. His tongue is strong, and explores my mouth leisurely, yet thoroughly. It isn’t tender or sweet, the way he takes over and demands I give him more, but it isn’t detached or cold like I had expected it to be either.
Long somewhat painful minutes later, mystery man is spilling himself inside of me, groaning my name. “God, Farrah. Fuck. You’ve got no idea how much I needed this.”
Blinking up at him, something dark unfurls in the pit of my stomach. The drinks I consumed earlier threatening to make an untimely reappearance. I know that voice. This is the rich timber I hear in my dreams every night when I allow my mind to fantasize about what it would be like to be claimed by him.
“Oh, no. Oh God, no,” I shudder, unable to stop my pussy from convulsing around him.
As soon as he realizes I’ve worked out who he is, Jake buries his face in the side of my neck and slowly pulls out of me. “Farrah…”
No. Oh fucking hell no. Jake is supposed to be getting married tomorrow. No, he is getting married tomorrow.
Recognition burns as brightly as my humiliation when all the puzzle pieces start fitting together. Jake must have overheard Sophie and me at the bar. He must have heard that I intended to throw myself at him. So instead of letting me make a fool of myself in front of our friends and families, he took pity on me. That’s what this is; a pity fuck. Now his comment makes sense. Him saying he needed this had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with his release.
Oh God, I am s
o stupid. So fucking, fucking stupid.
Shame, anger, and guilt wash over me as I hurry to straighten my dress. Sure, I may have said I was going to proposition Jake for sex, but I never would have gone through with it. That’s just not who I am. Except now, now I am that woman. The other woman. I just slept with a soon-to-be-married man.
“Farrah, wait,” Jake calls out as I start hustling to the back exit. “Fuck, just wait a minute. I didn’t mean it like that,” he states with a tinge of desperation lacing his tone.
Turning to face him, I shake my head and bring my hand up to swipe at the wetness covering my cheeks. “I am so sorry. This was a mistake. A horrible, awful mistake. I promise I won’t say anything to her. Just forget it ever happened. Just forget me, Jake,” I finish with tears clouding my vision as I push through the back door and out into the cold night air. Alone.
Jake doesn’t follow me. He doesn’t call or text. Nothing. But then, what did I expect? I told him to forget me, and he did.
***
That night was both the best and worst of my life, and no matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t forget it or him. It doesn’t help matters that I have a daily reminder of our night together, but I wouldn’t change that for anything.
In the four months since the wedding that never ended up taking place, Jake has practically fallen off the face of the Earth. I don’t have all the details, but my brother, Simon told me, Leslie, Jake’s fiancée called it off the wedding at the last minute, and is now suing Jake for pain and suffering. Crazy bitch!
Dropping a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, Sophie slumps down on the couch beside me, rubbing my barely-there baby bump. “I saw him today,” she mutters absently. “At the grocery store. He looked rough, Farrah.”
“Mmhm, that’s nice,” I say, attempting to keep my tone neutral when actually I want to pump her for information.
“Really? That’s all you’re going to say? Your baby daddy finally shows up in town after being God knows where, doing fuck knows what, and all you can say is, that’s nice?”
“What do you want me to say? Where Jake goes and what he does is none of my business, Soph. We may have been friends before, but even then, he didn’t tell me much about his work,” I shrug.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” she huffs. “You love him, and he loves you. You’re carrying his child for God’s sake. Not that he’d know because you haven’t worked up the courage to tell him yet, or Simon for that matter. How long are you going to draw this out, F. You know I love you, you’re my best friend, but he deserves to know.”
This is a circular argument Sophie and I have been having since the day she stormed into the bathroom while I was in the shower and threw a pregnancy test at me. Pointing to the toilet, she told me she wasn’t leaving until I peed on the stick and confirmed what we both already knew.
For the most part, I understand where Sophie is coming from. Jake does have the right to know. After all, he is going to be a father in a little over five months. Where Sophie says I should just tell him to get it over and done with, that I’ll feel better after coming clean, I couldn’t disagree more.
I was able to hide the pregnancy from Simon for weeks before he noticed something was wrong with me. That’s what I get for being so close to him considering Simon can read me like a book.
Our parents died in a plane crash when I was twelve, but truthfully, they hadn’t been around much for years before they died. My mom and dad weren’t what you would call hands on. They left me and Simon in the care of nannies while they traveled the world and spent millions of the hard earned inheritance my Grandma left my Dad in her will.
After their death, Simon and I went to live with our Grandpa, which is when we met, Jake. Grandpa lived in a three-bedroom cookie cutter house, one of many on his quiet, suburban street on the outskirts of Denver. It was a far cry from where we grew up – in a sprawling, gated, multi-million-dollar estate – but I loved it, and I love my Grandpa. But most of all, I fell in love with the boy next door.
At five years older than me, seventeen-year-old Simon took it upon himself to become my protector. He said it was because he didn’t want boys taking advantage of me and that I was too young to take care of myself, but I knew there was more to it. And that only made me adore him even more.
We have always been close, Simon and I. However, grief and loss affects everyone differently, and in our case, it only made our bond stronger. It wasn’t so much that we grieved for our parent or were particularly sad that they were gone – that’s a horrible thing to say, I know, but it’s the truth. It was simply that Simon and I recognized that we were all each other had left.
Don’t get me wrong, Grandpa was great. He was kind, patient, and always quick to tell a joke or make us laugh after we had a bad day, but he wouldn’t be around forever. One day, he too would be gone, and Simon would be the only family I had left. Which is why I haven’t told him or Jake who the father of my baby is yet.
I’m not entirely stupid; I know the time is coming when I won’t have a choice. But knowing Simon, his reaction will be to act first and ask questions later. In short, he will beat the crap out of Jake, and then refuse to talk to me for weeks on end before simmering down enough to forgive me. Jake, on the other hand, he would never forgive.
Chapter Three
JAKE
“Man, I hate to point this out, but you should’ve turned right back there.”
Shaking my head at Eli, I say, “We’re taking a short detour. Don’t worry, I’ll still get us there on time.” Eli’s a stickler for punctuality, and truthfully, most of the time, so am I. Or I should say, I am with the exception of why we’re making a detour this morning.
“Please tell me you’re not making me an accessory to your fucked up stalker tendencies.”
Chuckling at the grown ass man pouting in the passenger’s seat, I reply, “Can’t be an accessory if you don’t have prior knowledge, Eli, so don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to. And anyway, how does Annabelle like her birthday present?”
“Fuck you, Jake,” he grunts, crossing his arms over his chest.
Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought.
For all the charm, the cocky grins, and his easy going nature, Eli is just as deadly as the rest of us. Especially, when it comes to his wife, Annabelle. She is his entire world, as she should be, just like Farrah is mine. If anyone ever laid a hand on Annabelle, upset her, or even look at her the wrong way, Eli would lose his fucking mind and lay waste to whoever dared to treat his woman without the utmost of respect.
At thirty-two, Eli isn’t the oldest of us, but he is far from the youngest – that honor falls on, Talon, a good friend of Lyric’s, and son to one of his dad’s brother’s in Vengeance MC.
Six months after going nomad, Talon needed something to do, something to take his mind off the clusterfuck of a situation he got himself into back home. Lyric, who’s always the first to offer assistance to a friend in need, gave Talon a job and a place to stay on the proviso that he would give some thought to going home and sorting his shit out when the dust had settled. That’s yet to happen, but I have a feeling Talon won’t have much choice but to deal with his past when Violet gets into town later this week.
I don’t know what their deal is, and aside from Talon flinching every time someone mentions her name, I still wouldn’t. But give a man a few drinks and catch him at the right time, and he’s likely to lose his filter, which is exactly what Talon did.
He told me all about how much he loves Violet. How much he wishes things were different, and that if he could, he would go back and change the shit he did and said in a heartbeat. Talon hates himself for the shit he put Violet through – and rightly so, he was a fucking asshole – but he’s been through hell and back since their falling out so I do have a modicum sympathy for the guy.
That said, a man can’t do what he did and expect forgiveness, not without busting his ass to prove it won’t hap
pen again, and Talon hasn’t done that yet. Hell, he hasn’t even been face to face with Violet to apologize, let alone make amends. Women like honesty and all that shit, or so I’m told, which means, Talon needs to sack up. Speaking of which…
“Seriously?” I gape at Eli, pulling to a stop at a red light. “You haven’t fucking told her yet?”
“What the hell am I supposed to tell her, Jake?” Eli snaps back. “Hey, honey. How was your day? Good, mine too. By the way, I had a GPS tracker put in your birthday present, but don’t worry, it’s waterproof. Yeah,” he mutters darkly, shaking his head, “that’s gonna go over real well.”
“Better than her finding out from someone else and waking up to find a bracelet jammed up your ass,” I return, cocking an eyebrow at him.
Annabelle had her twenty-seventh birthday a few weeks back, and unlike a normal man who braves the mall in search of the perfect present for his wife, Eli custom ordered a gift that could end up costing him a month on the couch. At least.
During his time with the Charlotte PD, Eli made a shit ton of friends, a few of which he still regularly keeps in touch with. One such friend had the connections to hook Eli up with a company that specializes in manufacturing micro trackers, and video and audio surveillance equipment. It’s a niche market but government agencies, counter intelligence teams, SWAT, and Spec Op’s units eat that shit up so they make a killing with a single order.
How Eli managed to convince them to manufacture a platinum bracelet with an advanced GPS tracker linked to an App on his phone is beyond me, but he did it, and now his wife is the proud owner of what amounts to a permanent homing beacon.
I can’t help laughing to myself over how Annabelle is going to react when she eventually finds out what her husband has done. Because there’s one thing I know about women, and that is that in the end, they always find out, and when they do, nine times out of ten it isn’t pretty. Moreover, I have a feeling that the sweet and timid, Annabelle isn’t all sunshine and roses when she gets riled.