Big Bad Wolf: A Bad Boy Next Door Second Chance Romance

by Frankie Love

  “I just ... I haven’t done this in a while.”

  “Done what?” I ask, my brows furrowing as I pop the cork on a bottle of champagne. It’s all she drank tonight, and the moment I let her in my room, it was clear she needs to loosen up some more.

  Pouring a glass, I hand it to her, and she looks up at me with those piercing green eyes.

  “It’s been a while.” She shrugs, dropping her eyes to the floor.

  “Ahh.” This is quite shocking, actually; Claire is confident and drips sex appeal. She’s classic and smart—and hell, her legs in those fishnets she wears around the casino each day ... there’s no way men aren’t shagging her left and right.

  “I don’t know why I told you that. That was stupid. I want to do this. With you. I need to do this. I never do anything for myself. And so, I shouldn’t be weird about it. Or nervous. Right?”

  Rambling women usually give me a headache, but Claire’s rambling reveals a softer side to her that I’ve never seen before. It’s actually quite precious.

  “Claire, relax. It’s me. I’m not a stranger. And this is just sex. At least for me it is. Is that the problem? You want this to be ... more?”

  “Oh, God no,” she says, so emphatically I actually start to laugh. My ego is impossible to bruise—but I do, however, appreciate her honesty. “This is for one hour. Only.”

  “Got it, one hour,” I say. “And if you’re apprehensive about your ... err, skills ... I can take control of the situation.”

  Claire swallows a sip of champagne and nods eagerly. “Yes, just—please, Landon, don’t make me feel like a idiot.”

  “Never.”

  I take the flute from her hand and set it on the table. Then I wrap my arms around her and find the zipper of her dress. I slide it down, inch by inch, and feel my cock grow in desire as the dress gives way and falls to the floor.

  Claire takes a sharp indrawn breath, suddenly naked save for the strapless bra and tiny thong crossing her soft skin.

  “You are divine,” I tell her.

  “Shut up.”

  “You are. Now don’t be coy with me.”

  Her hands reach to the collar of my dress shirt and she slowly eases off my tie. It falls between her fingers as she drops it to the floor. Button by button, she moves her fingers down my chest. I tug off the shirt once she’s finished.

  “Now the trousers,” I direct.

  A soft smile plays on her face; she tugs on my belt, whipping it from the loops. It hits the floor, and she quickly unbuttons my pants. I know she’ll get wet when she sees what I have for her.

  My cock is thick and massive, the kind a girl like Claire, who hasn’t been properly fucked in far too long, is going to love.

  My trousers fall to the floor and my hard rod has sprung to life under my boxers.

  “This is really happening,” Claire says, her voice full of soft surprise.

  “Do you want it to happen?”

  “Badly.”

  I unclasp her bra and her perfect tits fall out. They are full and round, with faded stretch marks on the sides, reminding me that Claire is a fucking woman. Her breast are gorgeous and her hard little nipples beg me to lean in, kiss her skin.

  She inhales as my lips reach her breast; her flat stomach pulls in as she holds her breath.

  “It’s okay, Claire. You’re perfect.”

  The tiniest hint of insecurity flashes over her body. Her hips pivot; her head turns away for a moment. I cup my hands on her face, reflexively, holding her still. Not wanting her to look away. I want to fuck her, sure. But I also want her to know it’s perfectly okay to enjoy it.

  3

  CLAIRE

  Tiny memories of the last time I had sex flash though my mind. Sophia’s father’s rough voice, bruises and tequila and shattered glass. A much younger me, a much stupider me.

  Nothing about that night was soft. Not like this. Not like now. Landon may be a player ... but he isn’t treating me like a piece of meat. I think I knew that, deep down, the moment he started leading me around the dance floor.

  He’s an ass, for sure—he sleeps with a different woman every night—but he’s also a decent man. He’s trustworthy, solid.

  He knows how to waltz.

  And, right now, I have to admit he is being a gentleman. That’s something I never thought I’d say about Landon, yet with his hands on my body and his hot breath in my ear, I know it’s the truth.

  “Let yourself enjoy this, Claire,” he says, kneeling before me, his hands on the sides of my panties, tugging down the fabric, over my thighs, past my knees, to my feet.

  I swallow, realizing this is really happening. The very thing I thought might never happen again is happening. I’ve been terrified of sleeping with someone again and getting pregnant on the first try, but it’s obvious Landon is the kind of bad boy who makes sure accidents don’t happen.

  Landon’s face presses against my flesh, where my thighs meet my opening, and soft kisses flutter over my sensitive skin. I groan, my eyes closing, and instantly wish I’d been silent.

  But Landon seems to respond to my voice. His mouth covers my mound, and his tender kisses become heated, and soon his hand slides between my thighs, inching my legs apart. His hand caresses my skin, grazing the lips of my entrance.

  “Over here,” he says, standing and grabbing my ass, lifting me with what appears to be zero effort and laying me on the edge of the bed. He kneels on the floor, pulling my knees toward him, parting my legs as I try to catch up to what is happening.

  The bedspread is soft and luxuriant, the light dim, a soft glow cast about the room. Landon’s face is covered in shadows that give him an even sexier, dark, and handsome look. His edges are hard, but his hands are so soft.

  His head lowers between my legs, his mouth pressing into me. He licks my pussy up and down, fast, and then slips his tongue into me, slowly. He holds my thighs in his arms, as if he knows just how to maneuver my body into his face, so that he can get in me with the perfect mounting pressure.

  My pussy drips, and I know I said it’s been a long time since anyone has touched me like this, there. But the truth is, I’ve never had a man kiss me this way.

  This? This is a melt on the bed, better-than-my-vibrator, I’ll never be the same again sort of kiss. There is no way that I can believe it feels like this every time a girl has a man go down on her. They’d be grinning from the memory every moment of their lives.

  Landon uses his hands to touch my folds as he sucks my clit, and then I feel myself soaking his face as my pussy comes in pleasure. My hands find his hair. I run my fingers through his locks, biting my lip as I foolishly attempt to suppress a moan.

  There’s no point. My legs quiver as he refuses to stop the penetration with his perfect mouth. He flicks my clit, sliding his tongue across my opening again, faster and with more pressure. The movement fills my core with desire. My legs shake; my back arches. I gasp his name.

  “Landon, this is ... so good.” I cover my face with my hands, sweat on my chest, goosebumps trailing my skin. He just gave me an orgasm I’ve only read about.

  He stands, slips off his boxers, and crawls onto the bed, his eyes filled with hunger. When he straddles me, his stiff cock is more than impressive. Of course his rod is hard and long; he wouldn’t be a Vegas sex-King if he had nothing to work with.

  I lick my lips, not even aware of the movement, but Landon is. His smile is cocky and smooth, and so gorgeous.

  “Scoot back,” he tells me. “On the pillows. I want you to be comfortable.”

  “I’m more than comfortable,” I tell him, doing as he asks. My head falls onto a pile of feather-filled pillows, and I sink into the decadence.

  “I can see that,” he says hovering over me, his chest all molded, ripped muscles—complete strength.

  “Will you come in me?” I ask him, my voice a whisper. I have never had a longing like this before, but his cock makes me wet all over again, as it presses against me. “I want this, Landon.�
�

  “I do, too,” he says, leaning down, covering my mouth with a kiss, soft and sweet. My lips part, and our tongues mingle. I taste myself on him and it causes me to moan again.

  My legs wrap around him, his hands push back my hair softly, and we roll over, so I’m on top of him. Our eyes meet; time seems to pause. I’m breathing hard and heavy, anticipating what comes next, him entering me with his thickness, his completely capable body melding against mine.

  I thought I’d want dirty sex, hard and fast, to just get my first time post-baby out of the way. I always thought if I hooked up with a guy it would be against a wall, something rushed and off-the-cuff—but ever since I walked into this suite, it’s felt tender.

  Every movement Landon makes feels sincere.

  And maybe it’s because he’s just that good of a player.

  Or maybe I just needed this time to be sweet and soft. And maybe the universe decided, for once in my fucking life, to give me what I needed.

  Landon reaches over to the nightstand for a condom, rips it open. And every inch of my skin drips with longing for him to be inside me. I’ve never felt a man touch me like Landon does now. His fingers run across my breasts, my stomach, before he moves to slide on the protection.

  He feels safe. He feels like the only kind of hook-up I could really have.

  And, as he unrolls the condom over his thick cock, my phone rings.

  The ringtone reserved for my mom—and she only ever calls if it is important.

  “Oh, shit,” I say, climbing off him and his perfectly-formed body. I want him so bad, but Sophia is my everything. I reach for the phone in my clutch.

  “Hello?” I say.

  “So sorry, I hate to call, I know you’re at the wedding, but Sophia’s fever spiked again, sweetie. She’s begging for you.”

  Swallowing, I look at Landon, who watches me confused. I’m sure women never stop that ride for a phone call.

  But I doubt most women he hooks up with are mothers.

  “No, I’m glad you called. I’ll leave now.”

  Hanging up, I reach for my underclothes.

  “Sorry, Landon, but ... I’ve—”

  He sits up, raises his hands for me to stop. “No,” he says. “It’s fine. I don’t need an explanation.”

  “But....” I start. The truth is, though, I don’t want to give him an explanation. How could I, when I haven’t even explained my situation to Emmy and Tess? “Okay. Well, thanks. For ... everything.” I know my voice hitches, and for a bizarre second I almost feel like I could cry.

  I pick up my clothes from the floor, embarrassment flooding my chest. And I hate that. I shouldn’t be embarrassed that I let myself have this short escape with Landon, and I also shouldn’t feel embarrassed that I need to go home to my daughter.

  If my life were different—if I were different—Landon and I would have made love all night, ordered room service and drank fancy French-pressed coffee in the morning, with buttery croissants.

  But that isn’t my life. I’m not that girl. I’m a mom, and I need to get home to my daughter.

  LANDON

  When Claire leaves, I briefly consider calling for one of the escort services that Ace so conveniently has listed in a binder in each room of his hotel.

  My cock is fucking stiff like it’s never been before. I’ve haven’t had this much wood without a woman nearby since I first got a hard-on as a thirteen-year-old boy.

  I don’t call for an escort, but only because at that moment the only person I want to fuck is Claire. Which is ridiculous. I have no idea who called her to make her pack up and go, and I’m not a nosy sonofabitch on top of everything else.

  Besides, I knew before I ever brought Claire up here tonight, that she and I play in different leagues. Run in different crowds. Find entirely different things desirable.

  Except, of course, we both seemed to be rather fond of my face between her tanned legs, sucking on her perfect pussy.

  But that is neither here nor there at this point. She said she could spare me an hour, and I ended up with less than that. The last thing I’d ever do is ask for a round two when she couldn’t even stay for round one.

  Earlier, my ego wasn’t bruised, but right now it feels quite sore. I get up from the bed and take a long cold shower, my mind filled with Claire’s tits and her soft ass and those soulful green eyes.

  And I choose to move on. I must. I have plenty of things to contemplate.

  Well, that’s a slight exaggeration. I don’t have anything else pressing for my attention, per se. Tomorrow there’s a blackjack tourney. I’ll work out at the gym McQueen’s convinced us all to join. Perhaps I’ll look on the Internet for possibilities for the business park. And I’m sure to ask a woman to dinner. Perhaps take her to a show. I’d say take her back here for a good old-fashioned fuck ... but, for the first time in my life, that doesn’t have any sort of appeal.

  Which is concerning.

  As I wrap a towel around my waist, turn on ESPN, and flip through the menu for late night room service, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something. Missing some piece of the puzzle. Missing the point, of all of this. Life. Ambition. Goals.

  The other thing I can’t seem to shake is that in those minutes when Claire straddled me, when she looked into my eyes with devotion, seeming to offer me everything she had to give in that moment, I felt whole.

  CLAIRE

  I get an Uber and arrive home within thirty minutes. Properly disheveled, but not at all properly screwed.

  And I’m disappointed in myself for giving in to Landon. I never give in to men at the casino. But at Emmy’s wedding ... for a moment, Landon seemed different.

  Which is dumb. Landon is like nearly everyone else, living in Vegas for money and sex and booze. But not me. I’m in Vegas for my daughter, to try and build a life for my little family.

  I turn the key in Mom’s condo door and slip inside. I hear Sophia’s small cry right away, and I feel like shit for staying out so late.

  “Sweetpea?” I call to Sophia, walking into the room she and I share at the back of the two-bedroom apartment. “Hey, love,” I say, looking down at my little girl.

  Mom gives me a sympathetic shrug.

  “Sorry, I know you were having fun,” Moms says, standing from where she was sitting on the edge of the bed Sophia and I share. “But Sophia just wants you. I gave her some more Tylenol, and a cool bath, I think right now the best cure is her mama.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say, pulling Sophia into my arms.

  “I missed you, Mama,” she says, her little arms tight around my neck, her legs wrapped around my waist. In an instant, she is home.

  “I’m here. And Gram took good care of you, didn’t she?”

  “Course she did.” I feel Sophia’s smile against my neck as she nuzzles closer.

  “Thanks for everything

  Mom shuts off the light to my room and I kick off my heels, pulling the duvet over Sophia and me. We sink into our bed with me still in my pink chiffon bridesmaid dress. Ace and Emmy’s wedding, their life at the Spades Royalle, and my time in Landon’s suite all seem like a dream. It always seems like that when I go down to the strip to work—all bright lights and glamour and glitz.

  I don’t want or need a South Pacific honeymoon and the fourteen-jillion-carat engagement ring on Emmy’s finger. I don’t need a diamond tycoon’s son or a Grammy-nominated lover. I just want something more.

  And that makes me feel like a terrible mother and a terrible daughter. I like my life on the strip. And I like my life in this apartment. I just don’t know how to bring them together.

  I wonder if my life will always be here and there. Disjointed. Disconnected. Detached.

  I wonder if my life will ever feel whole.

  Cradled in my arms, Sophia is able to drift into sleep, her fever already fading with the healing power of being in the arms of someone who makes everything feel safe.

  I close my eyes, wishing someone held me who cou
ld make me feel that way, too.

  And, strangely, feeling like I had been held that way, for a sliver of a moment, when Landon hovered on top of me, looking in my eyes, seeing me in a way I didn’t understand.

  4

  LANDON

  It’s been a solid two weeks since Ace’s wedding, and I haven’t seen Claire once. Not that I ever see her on the casino floor—her shifts are usually daytime, and I’m usually still sleeping at that hour.

  Which is probably for the best. An awkward post-almost-rendezvous run-in isn’t something I necessarily want to have. I know once Ace and Emmy get back in town it will be inevitable, but what can I say? Avoiding confrontation is a fucking cornerstone of my goddamned existence.

  I’ve just pulled up to the gym when the phone rings. My father.

  Bloody fantastic.

  “Hello?” I say into the now-parked car, Bluetooth activated.

  “Landon, my boy, you sound exasperated. Surely you’re pleased to hear from your father.”

  “Is everything alright?” I ask, not really interested in the never-ending small-talk-chatter my parents expertly engage in. Some English families are thrifty and sparse with conversation. My parents are not.

  I don’t hold much against them, but their never-ending desire for me to join my brother Geoffrey as a productive member of English society, join in the cricket league in Hertfordshire, and stroll around in wellies with a bloody retriever fetching a ball before we break for a bit and shoot for sport makes me a bit ill. My father’s dream for me is a bit much.

  Especially when I spend my nights in clubs until four a.m., sleep till mid-afternoon, and don’t even need to hire the strippers who dance for me ... let’s just say our life visions thus far haven’t quite intersected.

  Geoffrey and Fiona should be enough for my parents, but they aren’t. Mum and Dad insist, constantly, on calling and asking me to join them in a wet weekend at home with them in England, sipping the nostalgic tea of my childhood.