by Aaron, Celia
Bad Boy Valentine
The Hard and Dirty Holidays
Celia Aaron
Bad Boy Valentine
Celia Aaron
Copyright © 2015 Celia Aaron
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Celia Aaron. Please do not participate in piracy of books or other creative works.
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, place and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Please store your files wisely, away from under-aged readers. This book contains situations involving forced seduction and dubious consent. If these are triggers for you, it’s likely best for you to avoid this story. If not, get the popcorn and enjoy.
Happy Valentine’s Day from Celia
Forced by the Professor is FREE at the end of this ebook!
Other Books by Celia Aaron
Forced by the Kingpin
Forced Series, Book 1
Forced by the Professor
Forced Series, Book 2
Forced by the Hitmen
Forced Series, Book 3
Forced by the Stepbrother
Forced Series, Book 4
Forced by the Quarterback
Forced Series, Book 5
***
Counsellor
Acquisition Series, Book One
***
Zeus
Taken by Olympus, Book 1
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Bad Boy Valentine
The Hard and Dirty Holidays
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
Chapter One
Jess
I peered through the peephole as my neighbor shoved his key into the lock of his apartment door. His broad back was covered with a t-shirt even though the weather still carried a winter chill. Tattoos snaked from his sleeves, black ink in stark lines covering all the way to his wrists.
He turned the lock, the click loud in the quiet hallway. I let out a breath. He froze. Then he turned his head, looking right at me over his shoulder. I already knew his eyes were a deep green. I’d spied on him before, more times than I’d like to admit.
My skin tingled as he eyed the peephole. I didn’t dare move. If I did, he might know I was there. My palms began to sweat where they rested against the door as the moment lasted, his gaze watchful. Finally, he smirked the slightest bit, his full lips quirking before he turned and pushed through his door. He slammed it behind him and I backed away and rubbed my hands down my pajama pants.
Holy shit. Did he know I was there? I’d watched him for months, ever since he’d moved in right at Thanksgiving. But I was always careful, never meeting his eye on the few occasions when we’d passed in the hall or the lobby. I was far too shy to ever really look at him, much less speak to him.
I turned and took the few steps to my couch before sinking down and dragging my laptop over. I went to his Twitter, wondering if he’d posted anything new in the past hour. Nothing. I drummed my short nails on the computer before clicking over to his Instagram. There were two new photos – both models he’d no doubt been shooting for the morning. They were perfect, lying on a bed in their bras and panties while staring lustfully at the camera.
Looking down at my curvy frame, completely devoid of ink or anything extraordinary, I realized for the millionth time that I didn’t have a chance with Michael. He was chiseled and lean, with dark hair and deep green eyes. His pierced eyebrow and motorcycle only added to his mystique. He was intensely gorgeous, untouchable. More than that, he was an artist with a bigtime reputation for his ability to take amazing photos. Not to mention, he had a dark past. My past was boring and would likely put a man like Michael Williams to sleep.
The lusty models stared back at me, but really, they were staring at Michael, at his amazing body and intelligent eyes. I flipped the laptop closed and leaned back, glaring at the ceiling and trying to shake my obsession with my neighbor. It hadn’t worked yet.
I checked my phone. Shit. I was going to be late for class. I darted up and went to my bedroom, throwing on a v-neck long sleeved t-shirt, jeans, and some tall boots. After brushing my teeth and hair, I grabbed my jacket and messenger bag.
I barreled out my door, slammed it closed, and turned to lock it.
“Hi.”
I looked up slowly, the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention. He was behind me. Michael was in the hall. Behind me. Talking to me. Oh my god. I stared at my door, frozen to the spot. How long had he been standing there? Seconds, minutes, hours? I had no idea. I forced myself to breathe.
“Are you okay?” A smile was in his voice.
I focused on the peephole. I was on the wrong side of it.
“I-I . . .”
“What’s you name?” The floorboard creaked behind me.
“My name?” Fog swirled around my brain.
He chuckled, a low sound that made my stomach clench. “Yeah, what’s your name?”
“Jess.” I wanted to turn and look at him, but I couldn’t. I already knew every line of his face, his neck, his arms. But what would he think if he saw all of me?
“Short for something?”
Did he just call me short? “What?”
The floorboard creaked again and his shadow fell against the wall next to me.
“I mean, is your full name Jessica?”
“Yes.” I swallowed hard and turned my head toward him, even though I knew it was a mistake.
“I’m Michael.”
I know. He moved so he leaned against the wall next to my door, his broad chest taking up every bit of real estate my eyes could see. I looked up, past his adam’s apple, the tip of his chin, his full lips, and aquiline nose until I was looking into his eyes. They sparkled as if with some private joke. He was laughing at me, just like I’d feared.
I dropped my eyes and frowned at my plain clothes and my body. Then I turned on my heel before striding away to the elevator. I may not have been a model, but I had some pride left.
“Wait.” His voice radiated confidence, a tantalizing smile still woven into the sound.
I sped my pace and stabbed the down button on the elevator. I could feel him behind me, following me at a leisurely pace like the killer in a slasher flick. He stopped a few paces at my back.
“Where’s the fire, Jess?” He put a hiss at the end of my name that had heat bursting in my cheeks.
“I’m late.” My voice came out more harshly than I intended. I just wanted to escape him, to get behind my door and watch him, to follow his social media, to dream about his body, his mouth. I wanted my fantasy Michael to stay firmly in place, because I knew the real Michael would never be interested in me.
“For what?” He took a step nearer. I could feel his body heat against my exposed neck. He was close, too close.
“Do you pay as close attention in class as you do around here?” He was right behind me.
I trembled at his nearness, at the scent of his aftershave, at the deep growl of his voice. I was afraid and wanting and anxious and desperate for him all at once.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I knew exactly what he meant. He must have seen me watching him.
“I think you do.”
Where is the elevator?
“I-I don’t.” Was that my breathy voice?
“I watch people for a living, Jess. I see them, everything about them, and then I capture them.” His voice lowered and I could feel his breath whisping through the dark brown strands of hair covering my ear. “Would you like to be captured?”
He was … He was coming onto me? My body was on fire. I turned to him, his gaze bearing down on me like a weight. My heart had long since run away, the beat far too fast to stay put. A five o’clock shadow graced his angular jaw and the eyebrow piercing caught the light.
His eyes were flecked with a lighter hazel and his dark brows were drawn down, as if he were concentrating. I swallowed thickly when it became clear he was concentrating on my lips.
The elevator dinged. I hurried inside and turned around to face him again, something inside me screaming that putting my back to him was a mistake. He put a hand up, holding the doors open and putting the expansive ink of his full sleeve on display. I would have loved to follow the pattern, memorize every line, but I couldn’t escape his gaze.
There was no air, not even a puff of it, anywhere near me. Those green eyes pinned me until I backed into the steel wall, my chest rising and falling rapidly. The doors started buzzing, as if irritated by his interference. He didn’t move, just let his gaze rove slowly down my body and back up before focusing on my eyes with an intensity I’d never seen in anyone.
He smirked and backed away.
The doors moved together in slow motion. “Don’t be late to class, Jess. I’ll see you when you get back.” His words flowed around me and then I was sinking.
Chapter Two
Jess
Class was happening. The professor was talking, my classmates were answering, and there was a general hum of note-taking on keyboards and the scratch of pencils or pens on paper.
I wasn’t there. I was still in the hallway on the fourteenth floor, standing with Michael at my back. His voice whispering darkly in my ear. Heat coursed through my body at the memory and I shifted in my seat, the tingle between my legs demanding some sort of movement.
“Ms. Shakoor?” Professor Ball asked.
“What?” I looked down to him from the fifth row of the classroom’s stadium seating.
“You volunteered, did you not? So, what’s the answer?” His glasses were slightly askew as he looked up at me.
“I volunteered?” I looked at both of my hands on my laptop keys. I definitely did not volunteer.
“I asked whether the tort of negligence carries a two-year or four-year statute of limitations in this state, and you made a sort of a high-pitched grunt.” The class snickered around me. “I thought you were volunteering.”
I wanted to sink under the table and stay there until class was over, everyone had gone, and the cleaning staff had turned off the lights for the night.
“I apologize. It’s two years.”
“Correct. Moving on . . .”
His voice faded out as I ducked my head lower, letting my long layers of dark hair hide my bright red face from the people around me. I never volunteered, and I especially did not volunteer by making a sex sound when thinking about Michael. Not that I’d know a sex sound if it bit me on the ass. A vibrator sound? I knew all about that.
Once class was over, I kept my head down and walked two doors down for my next hour-long lecture.
“Oh, and before I forget, Happy Valentine’s Day tomorrow everyone,” Professor Ball called.
I’d completely forgotten that the holiday was the next day, Saturday. It didn’t matter. I intended to stay in and study while making sweet tongue love to a pint of gelato.
It was my last semester in undergrad, and I was wrapping up my pre-law degree. I had already been accepted to law school and intended to get through it in two years instead of the regular three. I was determined to make it, to rise farther and faster than anyone in my family ever dreamed. Not that they would notice or care.
After my last class let out, I headed to the library and finished up my reading for the next week, just like I usually did on Friday nights.
By the time I got back to my apartment, it was almost 11 p.m. I would have stressed about possibly running into Michael again, but he was a night owl. He rarely stayed home once the sun went down.
The elevator slid open and I peered out, making sure the coast was clear. His door was shut and mine beckoned. I crept down the hall and slid my key in the lock, wincing at the clicking sound of metal on metal. But it opened and I darted inside and got it closed without incident.
I dropped my heavy book bag on the floor and stared through the peephole. Was he there? The hallway stayed solemn, quiet. Not a sound and no movement from across the hall. He was gone for the night.
I let out a sigh of relief and disappointment all mixed into one. It was a good thing he was gone. That little hallway interlude had been so strange. My nipples hardened at the thought and my imagination started adding more to what happened.
“I want you.” Michael staring at me, his green eyes so luminous.
“I want you, too.” I drop my book bag and wrap my arms around his neck.
He lifts me up, his hands on my ass as he pushes me back against the wall before kissing down my neck.
“You’re so hot, Jess. I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful than you.” He says against my skin.
“Prettier than the models?”
“What models?”
I smiled and let my hand trail down to my jeans.
“Oh, Michael, make love to me.”
“Are you sure?” He whispers in my ear.
“Yes.”
“I’ll be gentle.” He pulls me from the wall and carries me to his apartment. “The first time.”
“God, yes.” I moan.
“You like it rough, baby?” He opens his door and takes me through his tastefully decorated living room into his bedroom with the mirrors on the ceiling and the black comforter on the bed.
I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, pushing my fingers down into my panties and against my clit. It was already buzzing, ready to blow. I moaned lightly.
“Yes, please.”
“You want me to hurt you?”
“Yes.” I breathe.
“Good.” He throws me onto tbe bed and pulls his shirt over his head, showing me his miles of ink.
His cock is hard against his jeans, the outline thick and threatening. He unbuttons his fly and pushes them down far enough that I can get a look at it. It looks like . . .
I closed my eyes harder and kept working my clit as my sighs escaped and grew louder.
He grips the base and strokes down the length. His cock is beautiful. It looks . . .
I pulled my hands from my jeans and bounced my head against the door. I’d only ever seen dicks on the Internet. Never in person. For some reason, not being able to truly picture his was like a cold shower right then. But the figurative water did nothing to cure my burning need for Michael.
I replayed the scene in the hallway over and over again in my mind. He asked if I wanted to be captured, but did that mean take my photograph, or did it mean more? I hoped more, so much more. But no matter how much I wanted him, I was a coward. Any resolve at finally popping my cherry would fail, and I would run back to my apartment. I would keep watching, lusting, and dreaming about Michael. Jess, you are pathetic.
“But I want him so fucking bad.” I bounced my head on the door again as my words shot loud in my quiet apartment. “Why are you so hot, Michael? Why?”
I sh
ook my head, willing myself to get my shit together. I would do what I did every night. Have some fun with my vibrator while I imagined Michael pounding me from behind and pulling my hair.
After letting out a deep sigh, I turned around and peered through the peephole again.
I squealed and my knees went weak. Michael was standing right outside, no doubt having heard every crazy word I’d just said to myself.
Chapter Three
Michael
I shouldn’t have. I knew it, but when I’d felt her eyes on me that afternoon, I couldn’t take anymore. I’d approached her. Finally. I asked her name. I already knew it – Jess Shakoor. I asked her about her classes. I already knew about those, too. There was very little I hadn’t been able to learn about my shy neighbor. She was my obsession. I’d taken more photos of her in the past months than I had of actual models at my shoots.
I ran a hand over my face as I sat in the chair near my door and waited for her to return that night. It was late for her, though not for me, when near-silent footsteps sounded in the hallway. She was being quiet, but I heard her key in the lock.
I rose quietly and watched her ease inside her apartment. She dressed demurely in baggy t-shirts and ill-fitting jeans. But I knew what was underneath. Her plump ass haunted my fantasies and her large, round tits were made for my palms.
I couldn’t help the smirk that turned the corner of my mouth. She thought she was slick, thought I didn’t see her watching me for the past few months. Of course I knew. What she didn’t know was that I was watching her, too. I knew where she was from, who her parents were, what she was studying, and that she’d been accepted to law school. I knew everything, except the one thing that I wanted most.
I wanted to know what she tasted like.