I Need A Bad Boy: A Collection of Bad Boy Romances

by Sophie Brooks

  “I have a problem that needs to be taken care of,” I hummed as I held it toward him. My eyes must have had that darkened, molten chocolate look he loved so much, because he got up and came to me, picking up the condom by the corner of its wrapper and sliding it into his pocket.

  “Eve…Goldilocks…”

  It’s been a week and a day since last time. Our eyes locked.

  “Where?” He husked.

  “In the gym, under the last top rope.” Then I went and locked the front door.

  My preparations took me less than two minutes. I walked into the cavernous, brightly lit space where sounds echoed like in a canyon in the wild back-and-beyond. He was standing there, leaning against the plywood climbing wall, his body yielding to its artificial contours. The rope hung right in front of him.

  The sound of my bare feet, slapping on the industrial rubber mats, enticed him to lift his head. He straightened, eyes wide, lush lips slightly parted.

  I lowered my eyelashes and gave him a coy smile, letting the towel around my body slip as I crossed the floor.

  His nostrils flared and his breathing quickened at the sight of my attire, or rather, the lack thereof.

  I was clad in nothing but a climbing harness.

  “Evelyn.” His voice rasped in his too-dry throat. He reached for me, his hands skimming the surface of my overheated skin.

  Our lips met; he pressed my naked body against the rough fake stone surface and I felt every grain, every crevasse. My eyes rolled back when our tongues touched. They danced, pleasure pooling in my belly as I stood there on suddenly shaky knees.

  I gasped a lungful of air. “Here…” I reached for the rope and tied it to my harness. Then I climbed three feet up, pulled on the other end of the rope, and looked at him.

  “This is how you tie me off.” I demonstrated the knot, attaching the line to a mooring in the wall.

  Then I let go.

  I spun, free in the air, suspended not far above the ground. My legs arched, extending the curve of my spine as I reached my head back, my eyes at half-mast, my gaze on Raf like a hot caress.

  A low growl emanated from his throat as he ripped off his t-shirt and slid out of his jeans.

  A sway of the rope and a lazy half-turn; my languid arms stretched toward him, beckoning.

  Ravel’s “Bolero” echoed in my mind.

  His black, silk boxers tented over his groin. I felt strong arms under my back; sensuous lips on my abdomen. When he licked a trail all the way to my throat, I gasped.

  “You’re so… beautiful.” The exhalation took me by surprise; the feather touch of his hand up my thigh made the rough chafing of the climbing harness easy to ignore. I felt delicious suction on my throat, a grazing of teeth on my clavicle, an ardent kiss.

  A tender, restrained nip on my shoulder.

  “Rafael.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I want you.”

  “I know,” He let out with some effort, his wild smile a pale shadow of its former self.

  Then he parted my knees, his arms holding my buttocks steady from underneath as his lips encountered the already soft, outgrown stubble and all I could feel was his soft, moist heat.

  His movement echoed the crescendo of sultry music, intensifying, building up.

  I gasped for air, trying not to scream.

  “You can be loud; you locked the front door,” he said as the cooler air hit the wet, sensitized skin.

  Then he set my legs over his bare shoulders and, bending over, he went down on me once again, purring as I howled in ecstasy, letting the echoes rip through the cavernous space.

  I felt him let go of me; with a corner of my eye I saw a slip of black silk hit the soft ground. Then there was a rip of a wrapper and a hiss as the slick, double-lubricated condom rolled onto his length.

  “Eve,” he said in a plaintive voice. I sat up and held the rope that kept me suspended in midair. My feet didn’t quite reach the ground.

  “Push me to the wall.” He did, and I held on with my bare hands and my bare feet, hiking my left leg to a higher hold, exposing the parts where sun didn’t shine. His smooth hands kneaded my cheeks; a spit-slicked finger caressed the soft tissue underneath.

  “Hurry,” I said in a frustrated tone. “I can’t move up here.” He toyed with me from behind until my muscles trembled and I had to let go, floating through space on my pendulum like a failed Cirque du Soleil audition.

  The music in my mind moved into the wailing minor chords; or was it just blood rushing in my ears…

  He caught me and pushed his body between my legs.

  Aaaah. Better.

  I held the rope with both hands, holding myself parallel to the floor, head thrown back in abandon as Raf pushed himself inside me. My legs grabbed his waist and pulled him in, deep and fast.

  He gasped and his legs buckled and then my world went spinning wildly, Raf lying below me, the condom still covering his dick.

  The cymbals crashed, dissonant.

  “This kinky shit’s dangerous, Eve,” he gasped, amusement warring with frustration.

  We tried a few things, until Raf leaned against the climbing wall and anchored his upper back against it, spreading his legs forward and out. Our fingers touched and he pulled me in as though we were underwater yet I had no fear of drowning. I was so free, straddling him in midair, letting my legs climb up by his sides as he pulled my hips in, strong fingers grasping my harness.

  We joined. Our rhythm was smooth and gentle; the slow thrust and the even slower drag went on for an eternity, punctuated by moans and whispered endearments, reverberating in the acoustic space only to echo back to us.

  The languid clarinets dictated the luxurious pace; the rest of the orchestra followed.

  Including us.

  “Rafael…Raf I’m gonna…” His hips canted, grinding against my happy place.

  I wrapped my legs around his back and pulled in, hard. Wanting him.

  All of him.

  Now,

  “Rafael!” Tears of frustration leaked out of my eyes. “Please…oh…!”

  His right hand let go, fingers stealing down to stroke and caress as the sound of my pleasure splashed against the hard walls in a loud, keening wail.

  Our eyes met.

  “Grrrawwwrrr!” A mighty roar resounded through the gym and I let go of the rope and allowed my body to lean back and relax, holding onto Raf with my feet alone. I let go, arms outstretched, letting my torso fall back in a graceful arc, still impaled, my arms tired from the effort of holding on.

  Only the gentle echoes of an ageless rhythm now.

  The piece has ended.

  RAF UNFASTENED the rope off the mooring in the wall, letting me down as smoothly as a feather. Then he knelt by my side.

  “Here, let me.” And I let him, rejoicing in the sensation of his caring hands loosening the knots, the buckles.

  I didn’t say anything, merely observing him with quiet curiosity.

  He handed me my towel and slipped into his shorts. “You will want to shower, Eve.”

  Oh, that.

  I felt the delicious, post-coital flush color my face as a sheen of drying sweat cooled my body.

  I sat up and he held me close, nuzzling my hair with those magical, thrilling lips.

  “Evelyn…” He trailed off, his body tense.

  “Yeah?” I mumbled, my face buried into his sculpted chest.

  “Eve, I… hell, this is hard.” He hit the floor next to us with a tight fist.

  “Shh, Rafael,” I soothed him. “No need to worry.”

  “No, this is important, dammit! I just wanted to say that I… that I l… l…”

  His sudden, uncharacteristic stutter was interrupted by a rude howl.

  “Hey, you two, get a room!”

  The chorus of jeering voices reverberated through the cavernous space, disturbing our languid bliss. The blush in my face intensified, thinking of how loud we’d been. They showed up over half an hour early – an unhe
ard-of occurrence. But how did they get in?

  Wrapped in my towel, I picked up my harness and stood next to Rafael. “Now we will walk to the showers like nothing happened,” I said.

  “Yeah, be proud,” Raf grinned. “You have a cell phone ring that sounds just like me!”

  ONCE RAF and I were showered and dressed, all six of us sprawled in the middle of the gym, making good use of the comfortable, padded floor. My head was in Rafael’s lap, eyes closed, and I had absolutely no desire to move, not for any reason and not anytime soon.

  We weathered our share of knowing smirks and stupid jokes. Raf was forced to stand against the wall where we’d made love and Vicki marked his outline with a fat marker.

  Taylor Nolan, a reporter for the city paper, made some off-color remark about not wanting to be exposed to such depravity, and a debate sprang up whether his elusive and mysterious Paige would ever swing on a line for him.

  “Maybe I should get Honore interested in climbing, since he’s gotten me into tennis,” Vicki wondered aloud.

  “Speaking of which,” I snapped at the spirited redhead, “How the hell did you get inside? I locked the door on purpose.”

  Vicki’s eyes slid toward me with a sly smirk. “Remember telling me about your special hobby? It occurred to me that not needing a key is a useful skill. I’ve been practicing every day since.”

  Raf groaned. “The last thing I need is have you get in trouble, too; wouldn’t that just make Honore happy?”

  “Who do you think showed me how?” Vicki challenged. “Whose picks do you think these are?”

  I stared at him in amazement. My old, soft-spoken boss, Honore Auguste Wilson the 3rd, knew how to pick a lock. But why? The question flew out of my mouth.

  “He’s absent-minded and keeps misplacing things,” Vicki shrugged. “He finds it’s a practical skill.”

  Taylor Nolan interrupted, eager to divert us off our tangent.

  “All right, then. What have you learned about Kirby, Evelyn?”

  I gave them a somewhat sanitized account.

  “So, what’s next? You’ll go over and – what? Eat his dinner?”

  I nodded. “I’ll bring a bottle of wine, but drink very little. He’s cooking Italian.” Some of my excitement at Italian food must have shown, because Rafael’s thigh tensed under me.

  “My goal is to find where he lives, see how he lives, talk to him about climbing… you know, a fishing expedition. Um… I’m aware it’s not the safest thing to do, so I figured I could leave my phone on in my pocket, on speaker-phone.”

  “Your battery will run down,” Chico said. “Here, I have something better. I can’t tell you where I got this, but we’ll be able to follow your every word.

  He reached into his designer leather satchel and pulled out a Ziploc bag full of police-grade spy gear.

  “Come over here, Eve, so I can wire you for sound.”

  The dice were cast.

  I was really going in.

  CHAPTER 18

  I HAD BEEN wired for sound by Chico, with the tiny microphone with its wire antenna taped to my solar plexus. Except I didn’t like it there. Here I was, the Mata Hari of the climbing world, out to make a murderer confess by my charm alone, and if he as little as skimmed his fingers across by my abs, he’d most likely feel the wire through my shirt. I could wear a sweater over it, disguising the slight bump under my blouse – but that would muffle the sound pickup.

  I looked through my clothes again, carding through the outfits hanging in my closet at Rafael’s place. Blaine had enjoyed looking at me as I hung on the line, being belayed down; that was an asset to exploit. I glanced over my button-down shirts; too prim. There was the rugby shirt – too loose.

  Then, enter the Purple Menace.

  My friends had teased me because its tight knit clashed with almost anything I owned; its V-neck was barely decent. It set off my long, honey-blonde hair in a good way, though, and its slinky cut skimmed my skin, leaving very little to the imagination. That, and my tight grey jeans, a silver-studded belt, and my black, lace-up combat boots - I was ready for action.

  The wire was already ripped off and lying in the bed. It was white and its microphone looked much like my iPod ear bud. Electronic junk. After some consideration, I took my white iPod earphones and cut one half off, replacing it with the wire with its microphone; just stripping the insulation and twisting the wire together did the job. I covered it with a bit of black electrician’s tape. The whole mess was loosely coiled and housed in my armband iPod holder, the kind people wear when they’re out jogging. I zipped up my black fleece jacket over it and entered Rafael’s living room.

  “Okay, I’m ready, guys!”

  The whole gang was there, sitting on the leather sectional sofa, staying away from the beer. We had to be sharp. Raf handed me a bottle of red wine.

  “It’s a cheap blend, but it’s drinkable. That asshole doesn’t deserve anything better.”

  “Uh… thanks.”

  “What are you wearing under that hoodie, Eve?” Chico inquired, his violet eyes glinting with amusement.

  “Uh… a shirt.”

  Vicki gave me a sideways look. “You’re not wearing the Purple Menace, are you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You are!” Vicki cried out and Chico laughed his pretty laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “What’s the Purple Menace?” Raf growled.

  “Oh, nothing… it’s just an old, athletic knit shirt the fashion police think clashes with my hair.”

  “Oh yeah?” Raf grinned. “Lemme see!”

  I wanted to refuse, I really did, but I knew he’d find out eventually.

  “It’s just an old rag, Rafael,” I prevaricated, stalling for time. His eyes narrowed.

  “Evelyn.”

  Slowly, I unzipped my plain, black hoodie and let it slip off my shoulders.

  May as well go for the kill.

  Suppressing an evil grin, I jutted one hip out and turned slowly while the thick, black fleece slipped down the slick microfiber of the Purple Menace. My muscles tensed just a bit for the definition in my arms to show; I tossed my head back and let the tip of my tongue wet my lips.

  “Woo-hoo, you’ve got something good there, Rafael!” Frankie hooted, clapping his big hands.

  Chico squealed at my unabashed display, then allowed a mild frown. “Really, Evelyn, that purple is so out there with that vibrant hair of yours.” He waved his hand. “But the belt brings it all together. It makes you just too over the top to care.”

  Vicki just grinned as Nolan sighed in resignation at my subtle, somewhat slutty look.

  “No.” Rafael’s voice was cold enough to cut ice. “You’re not wearing that, Evelyn.”

  I turned to face him, my eyes sultry from underneath my lashes.

  “Yeah, babe, I am. But don’t worry, I’ll be okay. I’m working undercover, not ‘under covers’”.

  My pun did little to mollify him.

  “Where’s your wire?”

  I showed him. Chico nodded and tested it. “We’ll be in the car outside, listening in and recording, okay?”

  “Yeah.” The voice came out scratchy and dry and suddenly I wanted to swallow, but there was no spit. My eyes met the arctic ice in Rafael’s expression.

  I was scared.

  I wanted a hug – just a quick, little gesture of reassurance.

  And, since I was busy acting tough, it wasn’t okay to ask.

  Next thing I knew, his detached frost was melting away and his arms were around me.

  “You’ll be okay, Eve. I got your back. We all do.”

  There was nothing better than feeling those strong arms around my shoulders and feeling his moist whisper in my hair. He squeezed me tight as I leaned in and buried my face against his chest.

  “Aww, Rafael, let go. I’ll be okay.” I put on a good front for everybody’s sake. Especially mine. Swift, I leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth and then, like a
cloudburst, the somber mood broke and we were on our way, pushing out the door, jostling elbows and calling out friendly expletives.

  Showtime.

  RAF DROVE in silence. We were all packed into his Santa Fe crossover. Chico sat in the front passenger seat, setting up his equipment. Vicki, Frankie and I sat in the back, squeezed onto the bench and foregoing seatbelts. If we crashed, we’d be okay since we were packed sardine-tight. Taylor Nolan, as much as he was a dear friend to all of us, wasn’t enough of a buddy to snuggle on our laps and was all too glad for the contact-free privacy of the open trunk space. He had more space than any of us and, for just a moment, I felt jealous of the little-kid fun he was having back there, watching the passing traffic from any angle he chose.

  Raf stopped the car.

  “This is it, Eve. Apartment 503. If anything happens, holler. You have 911 on speed dial, right?”

  “No… I have detective Lupine on speed dial.”

  Rafael’s blue eyes looked colorized in the sodium streetlights and his chestnut hair picked up red overtones, as though he were a super-hero from a comic book. His strong, chiseled features matched the image well.

  “You told him?” I thought I heard a hint of relief in his voice.

  “Seemed prudent.” There was that dry feeling again.

  “Okay, bail then. Go for it.”

  I forced a grin as he punched the top of my arm with a soft fist, leaning back over Vicki from the front seat to do so.

  “Hey, you’re screwing up her audio setup,” Chico snarked, fiddling with buttons, his ears covered by serious-looking earphones. I leaned forward and punched him back.

  Then I got out of the car, the bottle of wine in my hand.

  THERE WAS no lobby and no doorman in Blaine’s apartment building, but there was an elevator. It was gouged and dented and tagged with graffiti and even though it didn’t inspire confidence, it got me to the fifth floor all too fast. Forcing my feet one in front of the other, I took a right turn and found apartment 503 almost right away. Disembodied, I watched my right hand rise and knock on the gray door.