Wanted: No Strings

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Wanted: No Strings Page 6

by Brandy Ayers


  The waitress rolls her eyes and slumps her way back to the kitchen.

  Okay, I need to regroup. This whole thing started off on the wrong foot. I’m thinking too much about the sexy-man-who-must-not-be-named. Joe deserves a chance. Despite the fact that he did in fact send a dick pic with his original email, he has been super sweet and understanding in our emails as I explained my drunken state the night I posted the ad. And he still wanted to meet even though it wouldn’t mean automatic sex. Though when he asked, I said there was still a possibility of sex, depending on how things felt when we met. Now, just having him sit next to me sends a wave of guilt and nausea curling through me.

  I try to picture us having sex. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t get there. My panties are as dry as if they had just come off the clothesline.

  “So, you had a big client meeting today, right? How did that go?”

  Joe chuckles a little and leans back a few inches, thank God. “Perfect, as always. I bagged the account. Just the commission on this one guy will have me set for the rest of the year.”

  “Wow, that’s great.” I take a sip of my lemonade, searching for something else to say. “And, um, I think you mentioned you like sports in your email as well.”

  “Well, I have fifty-yard line season tickets for the Steelers, so what does that tell you?” He puts his arm behind my back on the top of the seat and puffs his chest out as if what he just said is a huge deal.

  “Truthfully, I have no knowledge of sports at all. Are those good seats?”

  Apparently deflated by my lack of enthusiasm about his seats, Joe’s shoulders slump slightly for just a moment before he launches into an explanation of how much the tickets cost and what he had to go through to get them and how many men would suck his dick to go with him to a game.

  I’m kind of zoning in and out of the conversation, honestly, instead tracing the weird boomerang design in the Formica tabletop. Try as I might to stop it, my mind keeps wandering back to my night with Trent and the easy conversations we had while recovering from our third or fourth go-round. Why did everything he said seem so fascinating?

  I can almost hear his gravelly voice telling me about his buddies and their bet about my personal ad.

  But then, it isn’t my imagination. I do hear his voice, only it’s right next to us. My eyes damn near bug out of their sockets as my head whips up to find Trent looking pissed as hell with his fists clenched at his sides and his eyes boring holes into mine. My jaw slides open, and I keep waiting for words to come out of my mouth, but they just won’t. I have no words. Because Trent standing there while Joe sits next to me seems all kinds of wrong. So wrong I want to push Joe onto the floor and claim I don’t know how he got there. Which is ridiculous. I don’t owe Trent explanations. He was a one-night stand that I am maybe thinking about hooking up with occasionally while I see what else is out there. But even that thought seems wrong, and I have to cringe at myself for even thinking it.

  “Wow, what a crazy coinkydink.” My sister’s overacting is unmistakable, and for the first time, I notice her standing just behind Trent. “There I was, walking down the street, and who do I run into, but our old breakfast buddy, Trent. And I thought, ‘Well now, we should get a milkshake together for old times’ sake.’ And he agreed. And now here you are too. Mind if we join?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Meg slides into the opposite side of the booth and pats the seat next to her for Trent to take. As he does, my stupid meddling sister takes off her jacket to reveal a T-shirt underneath that says Team Trent right across the chest.

  If she wasn’t related to me, and my one and true best friend, I would rip that fucking shirt off her and tell her she’s not allowed to wear Trent’s name ever again. I hate the wave of possessiveness that washes over me. Especially because I damn well know this whole thing is a giant setup for Meg to drive home her point that I should be giving Trent more of a chance. As if she hadn’t been harping on that point every hour for the past two days.

  “I’m sorry. Who are you?” Oh, right, my date is still here.

  “Allow me to make the introductions. This is Meg, Francie’s sister. And I’m Trent, the guy who got to her first and ruined her for all the little dipshits like you.” Trent leans his elbows on the table hard, almost toppling it into his lap, as he shoots daggers at Joe.

  All I can do is groan and cover my face with my hands. This can’t be happening.

  Joe looks back and forth between me and Trent, putting two and two together pretty quickly, proving that he is just as smart as he apparently thinks he is. “You answered her ad too?”

  Trent gives one nod.

  “Must not have ruined her as much as you thought if she’s here with me.” Oh God, never mind. Joe is not smart. He is an idiot.

  Trent growls, literally growls, at Joe. We’re talking baring his teeth, werewolf-type growl.

  “Francine, I think we should get out of here and leave Meg and . . . Trent, was it? . . . here to enjoy their milkshakes.” Joe slides out from the booth, coming to a stand with his hand outstretched for me to take. “I think we both know where this night was headed anyhow. No point in delaying our return to my place.”

  The hurt that flashes across Trent’s face is unmistakable. He really thinks I was going to go home with this douche canoe. Which I absolutely had no intention of doing. But now, if I don’t leave with him, Trent will think it is because of him. He’ll think he has some claim on me, which he doesn’t. I don’t want him to. Do I?

  Apparently, I’m not moving fast enough for Joe. He taps his foot on the floor, and that one move is so reminiscent of my ex-husband that I can’t even pretend to leave with him and not hate myself immediately. “Francine, shall we?”

  “No one calls her Francine, asshole. That isn’t even her name. It is Francie. That is what it says on her birth certificate and everything.” I love that Meg is jumping to my rescue, but I also want to slap her into next week for putting me in this position.

  “Joe, I think you should just go without me. I need to have a conversation with these two.” I try to make my voice stop shaking, and do a half-decent job of it despite the adrenaline kicking and screaming through my system.

  Muttering something under his breath about not knowing why he bothered with a pathetic chubster, Joe turns and stomps from the diner like a two-year-old. Trent makes to go after him, no doubt to shove Joe’s ugly parting words back down his throat, but I lay my hand on top of his, stopping him in his tracks.

  Just as he turns those anger-heated eyes back on me, the waitress arrives back at the table with my BLT and onion rings.

  “Well, my work is done here.” Meg taps Trent’s shoulder, and they both slide out of the booth. “I’ll see you kids in the morning for pancakes.”

  “Meg, this isn’t over. You are going to be hearing from me later.” Like she always does, Meg totally ignores my words and blows me a kiss.

  Trent barely acknowledges her exit, instead taking the seat that Joe vacated.

  I can’t look at him. Anger swirls through me, and I want to hang on to that emotion like a life preserver. But I know, deep down in my gut, that the moment I look at him all that anger will fizzle out and raw, hot desire will take its place.

  The barest sweep of Trent’s fingers across my thigh makes me jump in surprise. Fuck, and just that little touch has me soaking my panties, despite the Sahara Desert state they had been in up until this moment.

  Before I can react, pull away, or tell him to go sit on the other side, Trent moves lightning fast and shoves his hand down the front of my jeans. Instead of slapping him like a normal person would, I moan, way too loud for being in the middle of a diner, and lean back to give him more room.

  Those thick fingers push aside my panties and part my lower lips. “Who was all this cream for? Did that little prick make you wet? Or is this because of me?” He swirls his fingers in the arousal gathering at my opening, sliding one finger inside me just a little bit. “Answer.�
��

  Damn it, why does that low demand make me want to roll over and do whatever he says?

  Chapter Nine

  Trent

  “It wasn’t for him.” Francie’s pouty lips separate slightly as she pants through what I’m doing to her sweet pussy. “And right now, I really wish you didn’t get this reaction from me, either. You don’t deserve this reaction after the stunt you and Meg pulled tonight.”

  Fuck, that hurts. I know I’m acting like a jealous asshole, but fuck if I can stop myself at this point. Something deep inside me needs Francie to be mine. There has never been another woman in all my time dating who affected me half as much as Francie does. I’m not letting her slip away. I can’t.

  If I have to crash every date she goes on, fight with her, then use my fingers, mouth, and cock to remind her what we share, I’ll do it. I’ll do this every night for as long as it takes. Because the last few nights with nothing but a couple texts here and there have been torture. I’m surprised I don’t have a bald spot yet from how much I’ve been tearing at my hair while talking myself out of driving to her apartment and stuffing her so full of my cock she feels it for weeks.

  “You may not want your pussy to give me this reaction.” I shove my fingers in until my palm rests on her clit, then give that little nub that I love so much a grind. She slaps her hand over her mouth to stifle the moan that little move wrings from her. “But the thing is, your cunt knows better than your brain. She knew her master the moment I laid my fingers on you the first time. That’s why she weeps for me. This little pussy cries for me to fill it. And I will never disappoint her, or you.”

  “Oh God, Trent, this is so wrong, You have to stop.” Francie’s practically dancing in her seat trying to hold back the orgasm I know is building up just beneath the surface. “Someone is going to see. Someone is going to hear.”

  She says it as if it’s a bad thing, but her pussy tells me different. The moment those words came out of her mouth she got wetter, tighter, her walls undulating with the first signs of her impending climax. My dirty girl likes doing it in public. And I am one hundred percent with her on that.

  “So what if they hear? Let the whole damn restaurant hear what I can do to my woman with just my fingers.” I’m situated in the booth so that my back is to the rest of the dining room, blocking anyone’s view of this hot woman riding my hand. I might like to talk a good game, but in reality, no one but me gets to see this. My lips press against her ear, breathing the dirty words she fucking loves straight into it so no one else can hear. “Every man in here wishes they were in my place. They are probably all sitting at their tables across from their wives, hard under the table and ready to fuck. They’d rather be where I am right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hear you trying to stuff those moans and screams down your throat and decide to come over and watch as I make you come all over this fucking booth. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Francie might shake her head no, but she bites her lower lip and squeezes her eyes closed. I have no doubt behind those eyes she’s imagining exactly what I’m telling her. Picturing men standing around and worshipping her with their eyes. The poor woman spent a decade with some idiot who didn’t know the prize he had, neglected and tore her down every chance he got. Now the idea of so many men falling at her feet turns her on. But I’ll show her the only man she needs kissing the ground she walks on is me.

  “Show them, sweetheart. Let them she how fucking gorgeous you are when you come all over my hand. Show me. I’ll never get tired of this show. Never. I’m going to be fingering you to climax in restaurants all over this fucking town for years to come.”

  Pivoting my hand around, I add a third finger in her tight pussy, then press my thumb directly down on her clit. Her mouth gapes open in a silent scream, and I know from our fuckfest the other night, in a fraction of a second, she’ll be unable to hold back her sounds. But despite my words, those cries of ecstasy are for me alone. I capture her mouth in a soul-searing kiss, my tongue mimicking the movements of my fingers inside her pussy. Each sound she makes fills my mouth, and I swallow it down, taking her pleasure deep inside me.

  I gentle my thrusts, just petting her inside as she comes down from the intense pleasure. Fuck, I love the way her face goes all relaxed and serene right after a stellar orgasm. As if every care in the world has been lifted from her shoulders. I want to help her unwind like this every single night.

  The awareness creeps back in, making her whole body tense bit by bit. I hate it. I want her back to the puddle of sensations I just saw. But she shoves and tugs at my arm, trying to dislodge my hand from her pussy. I’m not a complete asshole, so I let her, bringing my fingers up for a taste of her sweet juices. “Mmm . . . this place has the best desserts.”

  Warring thoughts play out on her face: complete arousal as she watches me lick my fingers clean, and anger.

  “Fuck you, Trent.” Francie slaps my arm, pushing at me to get out of the booth. I don’t want to, but I also don’t want to make a complete scene in the restaurant.

  I’m barely standing before she practically falls out of the booth, rushing for the door. Throwing a wad of cash that will more than cover the bill and tip, I chase after her. I can’t let her go. Even though I know she wants me to, I just don’t possess the willpower to give her space.

  For such a short woman, Francie sure can walk fast. By the time I make it out the door, I have to jog to catch up with her half a block away. “Francie, just talk to me. Please.”

  “Oh, now you want to talk?” She flings around, rage and some other emotion I can’t quite place, maybe embarrassment, painted on her face. Coming at me like a pissed-off cat, she pokes me right in the middle of the chest. “You are just like my ex. He manipulated me by tearing me down and verbally abusing me. You are apparently going to do it by using own body against me. You can’t fingerfuck me into submission every time you don’t get your way.”

  Is that what I was doing? It is impossible for me to feel like a bigger douche bag at this moment. Never in all my life have I felt as unworthy as I do right now. I don’t deserve this girl. And I’m losing her, right in front of my face.

  The self-pity lasts a total of thirty seconds before I straighten my spine, ready to take on this challenging woman.

  “You know what, fuck it. Yes. I used your body to get you to see reason. I will use every fucking weapon in my arsenal if it means having you by my side.” Taking two steps, I get right up in her face, bending down a little to meet her eye to eye. “You’re scared of the connection we have. I get it. Your first experience at love and relationships was shitty and left you questioning the voice inside you that is saying I’m the guy for you. But when our bodies meet, it is fucking magic. I’ve never felt anything like it, and I know you haven’t either. So yes, I am going to use that very powerful weapon in the war for you to open your heart to me. I’m in this, one hundred percent. Get fucking used to it.”

  I grip her face between my hands and haul her lips to mine. At first, she fights me, even scratches my forearm a little. But then she latches on and moves those talons to the back of my head, holding me tighter to her. Our bodies are melded together, shifting and rubbing against each other seeking relief. Kissing my way down her neck, to that secret spot that makes her knees give out a little, I look around best as I can for a place to take her. Just a few steps away there is a dark alley, away from prying eyes. Before she can protest further, I whisk us back there, pressing her back against the wall and devouring her mouth.

  My hands work at her jeans, unbuttoning them and shoving them down her legs. She whimpers and moans into my mouth, and I growl as I shove my hand up her shirt to grab one fantastic breast. Her hands work at my pants, undoing the belt and button quickly, no shaking hands this time. Once they open, she wastes no time taking my dick out and working it up and down, as if she’s been doing it every day of her life.

  That tight little hand with the stranglehold on my cock brings me to the
edge far too quickly, and I stop her before she makes me blow my load all over the sidewalk. Hell no. When I come, I will come deep inside her. No place else. Gripping both her arms, I spin her around, pressing her chest against the cold brick building.

  “You naughty girl. You hiss and spit at me like a kitten, but all the time you’re just fighting against what you really want. I know it. You know it. And I’ll remind you of it every day until you accept that I am your future.” I line my dick up with her dripping pussy and drive home in one thrust. “Tell me, kitten, tell me how much you love my cock inside you.”

  The mewling whine falling from her lips turns me on so hard. Now that I’m inside her, she’s gone all soft and compliant. “I love it so much. Why do you feel so perfect?”

  “Because I’m your god. Damn. Man, whether you like it or not.” I punctuate each word with a snap of my hips against her soft ass. “This pussy was built from me. I know what you need, and I’m not afraid to give it to you.” I pull out until my dick almost falls from her wet, warm sheath, then shove back in before that can happen. “I’m fucking you in the middle of the city, steps away from people going about their business, like a little slut. But you’re my slut. No one else gets this pussy. You understand me?”

  She doesn’t answer, too busy biting down on her lip to hide her reactions. A churning starts up deep in my belly. I know she was right before. I can’t fuck her into spending her life with me. And that knowledge strikes fear in my heart as I’ve never known. I don’t know any other way to get through to her though. So, I’ll use what I know about her body, her newly discovered kink for public sex. And tomorrow, I’ll keep talking to her. Keep being there for her. Even if she continues to see other men, which makes me want to yell and tie her to my bed. But I’ll do it. Because I know, at the end of this tunnel of confusion and fear she’s in right now, I’ll be the one on the other side, waiting to spend our lives together. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m as stubborn as she is, and I’m not giving up.

 

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