Cockloft

by K. C. Lynn

  “Blondie, chill,” I say, her screeching voice giving me a headache. “We fucked long and hard all night. If anyone is allowed to sleep in it’s us.”

  The hint of a smile dances across her perfect lips, a smile that causes a weird shift in my chest. “Where is my dress?” she asks.

  “Who cares?”

  “I do. I can’t leave here looking like this.”

  “I think you look great.”

  She shakes her head, a small laugh escaping her. “I’m serious. Please try to remember where you threw it.”

  Blowing out a tired breath, I sit up, feeling every one of my strained muscles. Jesus, I don’t even feel this worn out after a long shift.

  My eyes search the room and it doesn’t take me long to find it. “Is that it there?” I ask, pointing to the heap of material lying under a chair.

  “Yes!” She runs over, giving me a beautiful show as she bends down to retrieve it. Her excitement vanishes when she holds up the torn fabric. “Shit, I forgot you ripped it off me.”

  “Couldn’t help myself.” I grin, not the least bit apologetic.

  “Well your lack of self-control cost me three thousand dollars.”

  “Three thousand dollars!” I spew. “What the hell is it made out of, gold?”

  She cocks a hip. “For your information, this is a Vera Wang original that has yet to hit the market. It’s made from vintage silk.”

  “Yeah? Well, I think little Vera needs to take a trip down to the fucking Wal-Mart and scope out the silk they have there instead of ripping people off.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Whatever, lock up your judgment. No one asked for your opinion.”

  Her judgment remark reminds me of the hurt I inflicted on her last night when I made the comment about her father. It’s something I still feel like shit about.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her.

  She shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. I have more coming in.”

  “I’m talking about the remark I made about your father last night.”

  Her eyes lift to mine, pain darkening the light hazel irises.

  “I’m sorry, CeCe. If I had known, I wouldn’t have said it.”

  Her attention shifts to the floor. “It’s fine,” she whispers.

  It isn’t and seeing her acting as anything other than her feisty self bothers me, especially knowing I caused it.

  “You can borrow my shirt if you want,” I offer.

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll make this work.” She heads into the bathroom, taking her beautiful half naked body with her.

  Reaching for my jeans, I pull them on then grab my cell out of my pocket and find a text from Travis.

  T: Because of the stunt you pulled last night, you can find your own ride home, asshole.

  I guess that means he’s still pissed. Whatever, all he cared about was getting pussy. It didn’t matter whom it was with. I didn’t intend to fuck her last night but I don’t regret it either. Besides, I met her first. So he can fuck right off because he’s not touching her—ever.

  I’m about to shoot Johnny a text to see if he and Leah are still here when Blondie emerges from the bathroom. She’s swept up her long blonde hair on top of her head, leaving her delicate neck on display, including the mark I left on it last night.

  I smirk at the way she’s improvised with the tattered dress, the material tied around her body at all angles.

  Her eyes narrow as she points her finger at me. “Don’t say it.”

  “You sure you don’t want to borrow my shirt? It’s not vintage silk but…” I let that sentence trail off.

  “Shut up!”

  I love it when she gets riled up. It’s better than the sadness I witnessed in her eyes minutes ago.

  “I need to get going, are you coming or staying?” she asks, quirking an impatient brow at me.

  “Your boutique really isn’t my style, especially with three thousand dollar dresses.”

  The response earns me a smile. “I meant, are you staying here or leaving, too?”

  “I missed my ride so I’m going to text Johnny and see if he and Leah are still here.”

  “I can give you a ride.”

  The offer brings forth the image of her riding me last night. Her pretty head thrown back, flawless skin glistening with sweat as she screamed my name…

  She rolls her eyes, knowing exactly where my thoughts are. “Let’s go, Casanova.”

  Chuckling, I climb to my feet, swiping my shirt off the floor in the process and throwing it over my head as I follow her out the door.

  She slows her stride as we walk down the hallway, using my body to shield her until she realizes there is no one in the lobby but the receptionist.

  “Thank god.”

  My eyes shift left, connecting with the side of her face. “Ashamed, Blondie?” The question comes out light but the thought strikes a chord, a big one. She’s probably used to being seen with rich guys in stiff suits.

  “Ashamed to be leaving my hotel room with my dress in ruins, looking like I’ve been fucked within an inch of my life by a guy I got into a fight with the night before that everyone witnessed? Oh no, not at all.”

  When she puts it that way, I guess I can see her point. I, however, am not the least bit ashamed and walk with my head held high. After all, I did give her seven orgasms.

  We step out into a heat wave, which is a typical summer day in Atlanta. As I follow her out to the parking lot, I notice there aren’t many cars left. One in particular catches my eye.

  The pink Volkswagen Beetle has my long strides faltering. There is only one person I know that would drive something as ridiculous as this.

  Dread settles into the pit of my stomach when Blondie hits the locks…

  “You have got to be shittin’ me,” I say, coming to a stop just in front of the Barbie mobile.

  She turns on me. “Is there a problem?”

  “There is if you’re driving me home in that.”

  “What’s wrong with my car?” she asks, insulted.

  “I’m not going to fit in there. I used to own fucking monster truck toys bigger than this.”

  Her chin lifts, indignation resting on her face. “It’s actually very spacious, but if sitting in my pink car is a threat to your penis then by all means, feel free to walk.”

  My eyes hold hers, narrowing at the taunt. “Remember what happened last night when you challenged my dick, CeCe? If you’re looking for another round, all you have to do is ask.”

  “I don’t think so,” she sneers, but there’s no missing the pink tint to her cheeks. The truth is there, embedded in her eyes.

  She wants it again as bad as I do.

  “You know what? I don’t need this shit,” she says, reaching for the handle. “Have a nice walk home, Fireboy.” Her fingers dance in the air with a sassy wave before she climbs into the car.

  Shit!

  Having no other option at the moment, I open the door and crawl into the tin can. My knees touch the dashboard as I slouch down to avoid hitting my head on the roof. But it ends up not being necessary since she drops the top down, exposing us for the whole fucking world to see.

  By the smile she flashes me, it’s obvious that’s her intention. She slides her sunglasses on her perfect nose then selects a song on her iPod, cranking the volume full blast to Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off.”

  “Oh yeah, this is my jam.” She throws her arms up, thrashing her head from side to side as she dances to the beat. “Come on, Gabe, shake it off.”

  I blink back at her, completely unamused by her attempt to humiliate me.

  My embarrassment only serves to please her and she throws her head back on a laugh.

  We’ll see who will be the last one laughing when I bend her over the door and fuck the sass out of her.

  “You done?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “For now.”

  It’s going to be a long ride home.

  Once we hit the road, I turn down the music and rattle off my add
ress.

  “Got it.” She hits a button on her steering wheel. “Felipe, please enter this address into my GPS.”

  My brows bunch in confusion as I wonder who the hell Felipe is.

  Seconds later, a thick male accent fills the car. “I’ll get right on that, Ms. Kensington. Anything else?”

  “Nope, that’s all. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Have a nice drive.”

  I catch her side-glance me from behind her sunglasses. “I’ll try, but that will be hard to do with the company I have.”

  Get this. The chump actually laughs back.

  What kind of souped-up Barbie mobile is this?

  CeCe looks over at me. “Pretty cool, right? My godfather, who lives in Europe, got him for me. Any questions I have, Felipe has my back.”

  “Felipe is a dick,” I tell her.

  She gasps. “He is not. You’re a dick!”

  I smirk at the angry blush creeping up her neck. “You thinking about my dick again, Blondie? You just can’t get enough, can you?”

  “I am not thinking about your dick. I called you a dick because you called Felipe a dick. Ya dick!”

  “That’s a lot of dick coming from your mouth.”

  Her jaw clenches, teeth grinding. “You know what? Just be quiet or I will kick your ass out of my car and leave you on the side of the road.”

  “Now you’re thinking about my ass?”

  The death glare she shoots me has me breaking into laughter. Who knew it could be this fun to argue with a chick, especially one like her.

  She shakes her head. “You are so obnoxious. How you have any friends is beyond me.”

  She didn’t have any problems being friendly with me last night while she took my cock. The thought has me adjusting myself from the pressure behind my jeans.

  Our bantering ceases when she gets a call from an employee at her boutique with a question, and it takes most of the drive home before she finishes.

  In the meantime, I debate how to end the morning. Should I take her number? Will she even give it to me? The deal was one night but there is no way in hell I am keeping that deal.

  Once we pull up to my condo, she puts the car in park. “There you go, Fireboy. Home safe and sound. Thanks to Felipe and my pretty car. You’re welcome.”

  Her sarcasm drives me to do the one thing I’ve been wanting to do all morning. Reaching over the console, I hook a hand behind her neck and yank her in for a kiss.

  She tenses for only a second before melting into me, giving in to what we both want—what we can no longer fight. A soft sigh breaches her lips, allowing me the opportunity to slip my tongue in for one more taste.

  A flavor I could drown in forever.

  By the time I pull back, her lips are swollen and eyes hooded. I smirk, knowing I have her right where I want her, and decide to end the morning on that. “Later, Blondie.”

  I don’t wait for her to return the good-bye before exiting the car. She remains parked, her eyes boring into my back until I’m in my house.

  I have every intention of seeing her again and soon.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CeCe

  It’s been three days since my world was rocked and flipped upside down. Devoured by a man I can’t stand yet crave with every fiber of my being. A man who has invaded my every thought. Even when I close my eyes, he’s all I see.

  All I feel.

  Oh god. The bastard ruined me. Ruined me for anyone else in just one damn night.

  How is that even possible?

  A part of me wishes I wouldn’t have run out so quickly the next morning. The truth is, I didn’t care that I wasn’t here for the store when it opened. I knew Monica could handle it. The reason I rushed to get out of there is because of the feelings I had when I woke up in his arms. Feelings I didn’t expect to feel. Safe, content, and even cherished. It’s been a long time since I’ve woken up in someone’s arms and it felt really good.

  Sighing, I stroke Pepper’s fur as I hold him close. “Who knows, Pep, maybe I’m chalking it up to more than it was. Maybe that entire night wasn’t as great as I remember.”

  Yeah, right.

  It was more than great, it was life changing.

  Frustrated with my thoughts, I put Pep down and reach for my cellphone. Since the boutique is empty at the moment, I call Emily, needing someone to talk to. As much as I love Pep, I need some perspective.

  She answers on the second ring. “Good afternoon, best friend.” Her voice is as cheery as always, bringing a smile to my face.

  “Hey, you busy?”

  “For you? Never. Rosa and I are just out for our afternoon walk.”

  “Good, because I really need to talk to someone.”

  “Everything okay?” she asks, concerned.

  “I don’t know. I think I’ve lost my mind.”

  Her soft snicker floats through the line. “What happened?”

  “You remember that firefighter I told you about?”

  “The asshole?”

  I wince. “Yeah, him.”

  “Sure, I remember.”

  “Well…three nights ago we fucked each other’s brains out.”

  “What?” she screeches, forcing me to pull the phone from my ear. “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious. And when I say we fucked, Em, I mean we fucked hard. All—night—long!”

  “Oh my god, CeCe,” she says on a laugh. “How on earth did that happen?”

  I tell her the whole story, right from the beginning. From us both being at the party, and him picking my name for the hunt, then his hurtful comment about my father.

  “One minute we’re yelling at each other and then the next we started going at it like animals.”

  “Ohh, angry sex. That can be fun.”

  “It was more than ‘fun.’ It was mind blowing. He gave me seven orgasms.”

  “Seven!”

  “Yep, and each one was more intense than the last. The motherfucker even stuck his finger in my ass.”

  “Oh my god!”

  “His finger in my ass, Em!” I say, emphasizing the detail. “Have you ever had a finger in your ass?” Remembering who her husband is, I cut a hand through the air. “Never mind, don’t answer that, of course you have. Well, I hadn’t, and he just slipped it in like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. Who does that? First time you get a girl’s clothes off and you just stick a finger in her ass?”

  Her laughter fills the line. “Definitely a bold move.”

  “Yeah, but you know what?”

  “What?” she asks, anticipation edging her voice.

  “I liked it. No…I loved it. You should have seen me; I could have put any porn star bitch to shame. He brought out this inner slut in me that I never even knew I had.”

  “Sounds like it was an incredible night.”

  “That’s the problem.”

  “It is?” she asks, confused.

  “Of course it is!”

  “Why?”

  “Because I hate him, Em, and he hates me. We aren’t supposed to have sex and like it. He was supposed to be a bad kisser and have a small penis. Let’s just say it was the exact opposite and don’t get me started on the things the man can do with his tongue.”

  “Well, maybe he turned out to be good at all those things because you guys are supposed to like each other,” she says, trying to be sensible, but there is nothing logical about any of this.

  “I don’t think so. I have a feeling this is a usual occurrence for him.”

  The thought leaves a bad taste in my mouth but it’s hard not to believe that, especially with the things he did to me. What’s even more bothersome though, is for him to think that was a usual thing for me because it’s not. I’m not inexperienced by any means but I can count on one hand how many guys I’ve been with and I have never had a one-night stand. They were all relationships. Boring and quick relationships but relationships nonetheless.

  “Did he say anything about seeing you again?” Emi
ly asks.

  “Not really. He did say, ‘Later, Blondie.’ Do you think he meant later as in he does intend to see me again?” I can’t deny the hope that flares in my chest at the thought.

  “It’s possible, does he have your number?”

  My newfound hope quickly deflates. “No.” I drop my head next to the till with a thud. “Oh god. I fucked a guy who doesn’t even have my phone number. I’m such a whore.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You are a beautiful, mature woman who had a passionate night with a man. There is nothing wrong with that.”

  Says the girl who lost her virginity to her husband.

  Before I can voice my thoughts, my door beeps, signaling a customer.

  “Crap,” I whisper. “Em, I’ll call you back. Someone’s here.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll be waiting.”

  “Love you, bye.” Hanging up, I walk around the counter to find Mrs. Nelson from the flower shop. “Mrs. Nelson, hi.” I greet her with a smile.

  “Hello, darling. I was hoping you’d be here.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I need some fashion advice,” she tells me.

  “Well, you came to the right girl.”

  “I thought so.” She snickers. “You see, it’s my and Dale’s anniversary this weekend and he’s taking me to a really fancy restaurant. I want to wow him with a new dress.”

  “How wonderful. How many years are you celebrating?”

  “Forty-seven.”

  “Wow,” I say, completely in awe at the love that still shines in her eyes. The kind I always saw in my parents’. “Well, come with me. I have just the selection for you.”

  I lead her over to my more modest section but pull dresses that still have sex appeal. Like a high slit and thin straps. We manage to find about eight for her to try on.

  “Oh, I can’t wait. I have a feeling this little red number will be my favorite,” she says excitedly, stepping into the dressing room.

  It’s then that my door beeps again.

  “I’ll be right back, Mrs. Nelson.”

  “No problem, dear. Take your time. It will take me a bit to slip these on.” She chuckles.