“He's cute in his own gross, weird sort of way,” Brooke admits as we accelerate through several different layers of suburbia. That's kind of all this town is: neighborhoods on top of neighborhoods on top of neighborhoods. There's no real city center so to speak. The area we're heading to, Old Town, is right on the bay, just a few blocks of local shops and a fountain with some pigeons. Not all that exciting, although the vibe is kind of hot. Very artsy and eclectic. “Which ex was this one from? The homeless one?”
“Nah. Hubs is from the klepto.”
“The klepto, huh? You have a very colorful history, Mr. Roth.”
“It's Nanny Roth, remember?” I ask, dropping my voice a notch.
Brooke ignores me, turning her music up and then jamming to an admittedly sick guitar solo with her fingers. I tap my hands along with the music and we get into this double groove which is awesome. I love a girl that can let go and have fun, especially one with as much shit going on in their lives as Brooke's got.
When we hit the buzz of Old Town, I snag a spot near the brewery and hop around to Brooke's side of the car to let her out, wrapping her arm through mine as we walk down brick paved sidewalks towards the sounds of live jazz. The murmur of the crowd softens the sound as we head over to Main Street and find ourselves in a laid-back crowd of locals and artists, booths with postcards and prints and paintings everywhere. The old fashioned streetlights are strung up with Edison bulbs and everything just has this amazing glow to it.
“Whoa. Such a different vibe than Vegas,” I say as I pause and watch the crowd stream by. There's no glitz and glamour here, just a modest street fair lit up by the people involved in it, peddling handmade goods from booths, the local shops that usually close at dusk displaying their wares on the streets, doors flung wide. It smells like weed and the breeze off the bay, and it is fan-tab-ulous.
“Homesick?” Brooke asks as the big band jazz croons its sweet melody into the crowd. I look down at her in her flouncy pink peasant top, a bit of black lace bra showing, those white legs of hers sculpted and sexy as they taper into the too-big-for-her brown boots she's wearing.
“Fuck no.” I drag Brooke into the crowd, weaving us through the mass until we get to the beer garden set up in front of the stage. I order us a pair of pints and lead Brooke over to one of the tall tables in the center. People are drinking and dancing, swaying with the music. Laughter sweetens the air as Brooke and I clink glasses and down some nasty ass tasting local ale. But hell, I'm already enjoying myself and we just got here. Now imagine how that finale between me and Brooke is gonna feel …
“Want to dance?” she asks, surprising me as she finishes her beer and holds out a hand. I raise my brows and reach out to take it, letting her lead me into the fray. She guides my hands exactly where she wants them, placing one on either of her hips as she wraps her arms around my neck. The warm feel of her body against mine is so goddamn intoxicating. And I love-love-love the fact that I'm out with her in public, all these people seeing us dancing together. I want to lay my claim on her in front of all of them.
Um. What? Jesus Christ, Zayden.
I put a huge red stop sign on all of that shit and focus on the way Brooke's breasts squish against my chest. Her hands feel like brands on the back of my neck, burning hot prints into my skin as we swirl and rock in an inexpert little waltz, doing our best to match the music.
She smiles at me the whole time, her hair swinging with the motions, her mouth painted with this silly peach-pink color that makes her look several years younger than her fresh-face really needs. But wow. Those lips are full and they curve in the most sinuous sort of way. Her lashes are long and dark and the eyes they frame are brimming with intelligence. She is, like, so much smarter than I am it's not even funny.
When the song ends, Brooke pulls away laughing and does this stupid little jig that I can only credit the alcohol with.
“Are you a lightweight?” I ask as I lean my elbow against the tall surface of the table and watch her finish off the rest of my beer.
“Not really,” she tells me as she slams the empty glass down on the table. “I just feel like this might be my last night to go out for a while. With the new job and class and the girls, it's only going to get harder, especially without you around.” She pauses and flicks her gaze up to me, blushing a little before she turns away. “You know, because I'll have to find a babysitter.” A pause before she looks back and smiles at me. “And a new lover.” Brooke leans across the table toward me and I let her put her mouth against my ear. “Because … I think I'm starting to get addicted to having sex.”
“Whoa, whoa, baby. Listen to you, you dirty bitch.” I wink at her and she laughs, taking my hand and leading me out to the street. We parade up and down Main, checking out the booths and disappearing into crowded shops filled with black and white photos, dragon statues, glass bongs, and all sorts of ocean inspired art.
Brooke buys herself a stupid white wool cap with a pink flower and a snags a few colorful pinwheels for the kids from a local artist, jamming them into a knitted brown and orange bag she buys from yet another vendor.
“I know I shouldn't be spending anything,” she says, but I wave her excuses away before they come.
“No. Stop that. Look, you're twenty-two, Brooke. Relax, have some fun and don't worry about justifying any of it.” I look down at her in that weird hat and think she looks so damn cute that I shove a fifty into her purse when she isn't looking to pay for it. I kind of owe her because I am drinking in her quirky look like it's lemonade, baby. Sweet and sour all at the same time.
I buy Brooke and me some burritos at one of the food carts and we walk along the boardwalk together, the soft whisper of water against the shore mixing with the music and the chatter. For a small town get-together, it's totally bomb.
“What's it like, living in Las Vegas? I can imagine what it'd be like to visit, but to live there? Is it just craziness all the time?” I laugh and chew my bite of burrito, doing a little twirl to the chortling of the saxophone as Brooke chuckles and clutches her foil wrapped food in both hands.
“It's always a hoot and a holler, you know? Our shop is right,” I slick my hand through the air, “on the Strip, so there are tourists galore parading in and out at all hours. We're open twenty-four seven, too. So much weird shit happens at night.”
“Do you pierce … everything?” Brooke asks, glancing sidelong at me as we pass under puddles of light from the street lamps, couples gathered on benches, cuddling up or necking like teenagers. “Like …” She waves one of her hands in the area of her crotch. “Vaginas and stuff.”
I laugh again and shake my head, kicking my red and black knee-high Converse against the pavement as I hop up on a bench and take a look out at the bay. Damn. One of the few things I missed about this place was the view of the water. I mean there's water in Vegas, in all the fountains and faux waterfalls and fake ass lakes, but that's just it—it's artificial as hell. In the middle of a goddamn desert and there's just … all of this crap everywhere that doesn't belong there. It's never bothered me before, but to be honest, it's kind of bugging me right now.
“Yep. I pierce pussies, sure. Cocks. Lots and lots of nipples. I mean hordes of fucking nipples. Belly buttons, lips, noses, brows, ears, whatever.” I look down at Brooke and smile. “In fact, since I first met you, I've been checking out your eyebrows.” I point at my own face and tuck my fingers into my back pockets. “You have gorgeous brows, you know that?”
Brooke reaches up and smooths her thumb over one.
“I've never really thought about it, no. Why?”
“Because I want to pierce you so goddamn badly.” Brooke's cheeks fill with fire as she glances away, out at the darkness of the water. There are a few boats out there, lights shimmering in the navy blue night sky.
“You want to pierce my … eyebrow?” she asks as she turns back to me and finishes off the last bite of her burrito, tossing the crumpled foil into a nearby trash can.
�
�If biostatisticians are allowed to have pierced brows, then sure. I want. So badly.”
“Do you have the stuff for that? I mean, doesn't it take special needles and disinfectant and all that?”
“I've got everything I need in my car.” I slap my hands together. “I could do it easy. Real quick. We could stop by my brother's place after this and do it.” I grin down at her. “You game for that, Smarty-Pants?”
Brooke climbs up to stand on the bench next to me, turning and staring out at the water for a moment.
“Why the hell not?” she asks and I pump my fist. When she looks back at me, I'm grinning big at her. “You are actually a body piercer though, right? This isn't like the nanny gig, is it? Because I really don't want an infected piercing next to my eye.”
“I am legit as fuck. And good, too.” I point at my cock. “Who do you think pierced your new best friend, Brooke Overland? Hmm? That was me.” I point at my belly button, my nipples. “I pretty much pierced all of my own shit. And trust me, I've got some very satisfied customers back at home, girls who can vouch for my piercing abilities all night long. Let's just say, I'm really good at sticking long hard things inside of people.”
“That is so gross,” Brooke moans, jumping down off the bench. The way she moves, I can almost imagine what it'd be like to see her dance. I feel sort of guilty for even thinking about it considering how upset she was about the whole ordeal, but … damn. I really want to stop in at that club before I leave town and see her in action. I wonder if she'd be cool with that? “Please don't ever say that again.”
“Your wish is my command, mistress. Nanny Roth is so at your service.” I hop down next to her and grab her hand. “Now, come with me and I'll show you my special place. Considering it's still there, of course. I haven't been back to this spot since I was eighteen.”
I pull Brooke down the boardwalk, past the empty lots that never got developed the way they were promised. Used to bug me. Now I kind of don't care because it makes this place seem more real, less commercial. Screw fancy condos and big box shops. Whatever. Keep Eureka weird, okay?
Brooke follows me back toward Main Street and behind the fountain, to the little alcove that houses the doors to several shops. Since these particular places are off the beaten path, they've closed at their normal hours, leaving a darkened space that's just about perfect for what I've got in mind.
“Exactly as I remember it,” I tell Brooke as I drag her into the shadows and tug her against me. I lean in and whisper against her ear. “If you're quiet, nobody will know we're in here.”
The music and the crowd are still clearly audible, and if we lean out of the alcove just a bit, the people standing at the top of the brick incline where the fountain sits pop into view. It's a good, easy, safe spot for a little dirty fun.
This close, I can hear Brooke's heart pounding against my chest, her breathing picking up in what's either excitement or fear, I'm not sure.
“What do I do?” she asks and I roll my eyes to the ceiling in silent thanks to the gods. Yes.
“Follow my lead,” I whisper as I push Brooke back a step and give her a little wink. “The key to public sex is keeping it quick, easy, and clean.” I reach down and undo the top button on my jeans, using my foot to kick over the thick welcome mat from in front of the chocolate shop.
Brooke looks down at it and then back up at me.
“Oh, no,” she says, taking a step back. “I can't do that. Not for the first time. Not here.”
“Why not? I promise it's kind of fun.”
“How would you know?” Brooke asks, reaching up to adjust her silly hat. It looks even more ridiculous with that porn star mouth of hers. She leans in toward me. “Like you've ever sucked a cock before.”
“No, but I eat pussy for breakfast.”
“Oh my God,” Brooke groans as she spins in a circle and comes back around to stare at me with her hazelnut brown eyes. They remind me of that pumpkin pie spice mix my mom used to put into everything during November and December, that yummy orange-brown powder that smelt like home and warmth and holidays. “Please don't ever say that again either.”
“I thought it'd be hot for your first time to be here, but …” I button up my pants and lift my hands palms out. “You don't want to suck me off? Okay. Lean against that door right there and drop your panties. This sort of violates the clean part of the public sex rules, but I'm okay with that. I will rock your excitement all over my face, Smarty-Pants.”
“I'm not doing that either,” Brooke whispers as I cross my arms over my chest and smile at her, slow and easy, letting her see in my face that she's not getting out of this one. She's nervous, but her chest is rising and falling in rapid pants and her eyes are shimmering with desire. Plus, she won't stop licking her lower lip and fisting her fingers into the fabric of her skirt.
“Okay.” I shrug my shoulders and lace my fingers behind my neck. “Let's go get another beer or something then.”
“But …” Brooke starts as she gives me a quick once-over, taking in the green t-shirt with the video game characters splashed all over it. I don't normally wear this thing outside my own apartment, but I feel safe with Brooke, like maybe I could accept that I'm one tenth nerd. Or maybe one twentieth. Anyway, I feel like maybe I could learn to embrace that. “I thought you were going to, you know.” She gestures her hand at one of the closed and locked doors in the alcove.
“Fuck you? Yeah, I was going to. But you don't seem all that into it. I don't want to pressure you into anything you don't want to do.”
Brooke narrows her eyes on me.
“I see what you're doing and I don't like it.”
I stay there smiling, my arms still crossed over my chest as Brooke sighs and drops her stupid yarn bag to the ground.
“Okay,” she says as she takes several deep breaths and rubs at her white and pink hat. “Let's do this.”
I raise an eyebrow as she steps over to me and looks me in the face, reaching down and tearing open the button on my jeans. I damn near cream my pants at the determined expression she's wearing, the fierceness she's using to tackle something as simple as sucking me off.
Kind of makes me like her a little bit more.
Brooke drops to her knees on the welcome mat as I lean back against the door to the shop and suck in a massive breath, enjoying the slow slide of her fingers as she parts the denim and finds out that hey, I'm not wearing any fucking underwear.
“Rule number four,” I whisper as her hand wraps around the base of my cock and I groan. “Always come prepared.” Brooke pauses for a moment, mouth twitching in a slight smile and then leans forward to run her tongue up the side of my shaft.
I seriously almost blow it right there—pun so totally intended. The way she moves, the way she touches me, the stupid ugly hat on her head, all of it makes me fucking crazy. I want to grab the back of her head and thrust my hips against her mouth, come on the back of her tongue and watch her swallow me down that gorgeous throat of hers.
Instead, I relax into the doorway, leaning my bodyweight back against the glass as I reach down and tug that hat off of Brooke's hair, tossing it aside and curling my fingers in the silky chocolate strands, twining them around my fingers as I tug her closer, encourage her to part her lips and take me into her warmth.
“Oh hell to the fuck yes,” I groan as the music swells and the crowd cheers, a horde of people flowing in a mass just outside of our little bubble. Makes it so much hotter. I almost want to be caught, want somebody to stumble into our nook and see this girl with her mouth wrapped around the head of my cock. I want them to look at us and feel fucking jealous as shit that they're not me, that they can't have her the way I can. “That's it, Brooke, right there.”
She slips her tongue to the sensitive underside of my shaft, flicking it up against the metal of my frenum piercing until I can't take it anymore, pushing me in deeper, just a few inches more but damn. The warmth of her wrapped around me like that is intoxicating, especially paired w
ith the cool air from the bay swirling against the rest of my exposed skin.
Brooke slides back and takes a breath, exhaling against my moistened skin. I glance down at her and she looks up at me.
“Am I doing this right?” she asks and I groan, shoving the heels of my hands against my eyes.
“Are you trying to make me blow my load like, right this fucking second? Don't talk like that.” Brooke huffs out and the flutter of warmth makes me moan and buck my hips.
“Does it hurt if I touch your piercings?” she asks as I drop a hand back to her hair, teasing and twining it around my fingers.
“Nope. Go for it, Smarty-Pants.” Brooke grabs hold of the base of my cock and leans in, slipping her tongue through the silver ring of my Prince Albert, giving it an experimental yank before she grabs it with her teeth and pulls harder. I clamp down on the sounds building in my throat, trying to keep quiet. Did I mention that was rule five? Fuck. I'm starting not to give a shit anymore. Besides, the music is loud and the crowd is louder … a guttural groan escapes my lips when Brooke tugs on the piercing in my balls. It's just a plain silver ring at the midline, but holy shit. When a pretty girl's got her fingers all over it? Heaven, baby. Pure heaven.
My head drops back against the glass of the door as I knead my fingers into Brooke's scalp, riding the high of the moment, savoring the feel of her mouth, her hands. She doesn't feel so amateurish right now. Or maybe that's just the part of me that's crushing hard that's talking? When it comes to Brooke, that little piece of me doesn't quite see straight.
“Hey, hey,” I say, reaching down and taking her chin, tilting her face away from me, my cock sliding from her lips. “That's perfect, baby.” I help Brooke to her feet, her face flushed, her mouth moist with saliva. I lean forward and kiss her mouth hard, tasting myself on her tongue, loving every fucking second of this. “Now, turn around and show me your ass,” I whisper, snagging a condom from my pocket as I watch Brooke turn and bend over, putting her palms against the glass of the door opposite the one I'm standing in.
Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1) Page 19