by S. M. Shade
My head finally snaps up, and I meet the cold stare in his eyes as he tilts his head, studying me as the water sprays against his back. Wet… He’s wet and hard and… I’m staring again!
“Sorry!” I yell much louder than necessary, then cringe.
He doesn’t react at all, and I continue to stand in the doorway when my feet cement themselves in place. Instead of acting uncomfortable, Roman grabs the shampoo and starts working it into his hair. I remain a true pervert and watch. Hey, when you commit to something, you stand by it.
“I-I don’t remember you… I mean, I do remember you, but I don’t remember what I would have done to piss you off… We… um… never spoke… Different circles and all,” I ramble.
His hands pause in his hair, and he sticks his head under the spray of the water to rinse it off before his eyes come back to mine. He studies me hard for a minute, but he finally shakes his head as if he’s disgusted.
“Figures,” he mutters. “Do you remember anything about the Halloween night you came to party with Anderson and his friends?”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Now I know you have me confused with someone else. I never went to one of those parties. I spent most of my time hating him, or calling him names.” Or avoiding his noogies, his smelly feasts, and his constant snot rockets he tried to hit me with.
“Yet you’re here at his wedding?”
My eyes drop to that naked penis again. Having a conversation with a man built like an Adonis while he’s naked… Yeah. Tell me you can do that without looking, and I’ll shut up.
“My eyes are up here,” he says, amused.
Again, my gaze jerks up to see a small smirk playing on his lips.
“I’m… um… here because my mother is relentless. Also, my friend Lydia… For some reason, she needed to be here and have her heart surgically cut from her chest.”
He looks confused, but he doesn’t comment on that last bit before slathering some sort of gel on his body. A dark, arousing scent washes over me, and I half wonder if he’s practicing witchcraft on me or something.
“Senior year for me, you showed up at your brother’s Halloween party drunk and stoned. Too drunk and stoned to stand.”
“Stepbrother,” I correct, then frown. “I really don’t remember that.”
“He spent the night trying to sober you up because he knew his dad and your mom would blame him and he’d lose the apartment. Then you decided to be a bitch to me for no reason.”
Again, I frown. I have no idea what he’s talking about. This is soooo not in my memory bank. Then again, high school was just my time to get high—pothead—and drunk.
He sighs as he cuts off the water, and without any modesty, he opens the glass shower doors and steps out, taking his time to wrap the towel around his waist and cover that massive, still-hard penis.
“Are you always hard?” I ask, then realize I said that aloud when he cocks an eyebrow at me. “I mean, um, how was I a bitch?”
“I believe I tried to hit on you, and you told me I was an arrogant prick, and it served me right to lose my scholarship, since I had no right fighting anyone. Violence isn’t the answer and blah blah blah—insert more hippie speak.”
I really, really, really don’t remember that.
“I never would have said that,” I tell him, even though those weren’t exactly the best years of my life and I might have actually said that. He might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But really, violence isn’t the key, even if I am internally violent. It’s not like I ever act on my thoughts.
He looks at me like I really am an idiot. “It’s not exactly something a guy forgets.”
“And now you hate me?” I surmise. “Because I was a stoned teenager who said something hurtful to you one time?”
His jaw tics like I’ve now said the wrong thing. “Like I said, it’s not something a guy forgets.”
“Well, I apologize for the scholarship thing. That was uncalled for. But you have to admit you were an arrogant prick. You thought you owned the school and looked down your nose at everyone until your injury.”
Wrong thing to say, I decide when he stalks toward me like a rabid wolf going for my throat. I flinch and tense, even stumble back, but he grabs my hips and lifts me, tossing me onto the sink counter.
When he steps in between my legs, I consider angry sex. I mean, I consider slapping him with my super robo hand. Not angry sex.
His eyes drill into mine, and his jaw clenches as he glares at me. So… I finally react by grabbing his shoulder and crushing my lips to his, surprising him enough that he parts his lips to exhale his shock, and I slip my tongue into the opening.
It’s like kissing a statue at first, but then those fisted hands beside my legs open and grab my hips, jerking me against his body as he kisses me back. It’s all harsh, and mean, and brutal…
It’s the best kiss ever.
I moan against his tongue, and my skirt hikes up higher on my waist. Just as it’s getting good, he tears his lips away from mine, and he glares at me like that was all my fault while jerking back. Shaking his head, he stalks out of the bathroom and slams the door.
Cranky much?
“Sounds like you need to get over some teenage bullshit, Roman,” I call out sweetly, but there’s no response.
Maybe I used to party too much, because I have zero memory of that night. I really think I should remember a guy like Roman hitting on me…
“I’m over it,” he finally says back, sounding more amused than angry now as he pokes his head back through the door and smirks at me. Ahhh, so this is whiplash. Now I get why people gripe about it so much. “I just think I need to make you work for it.”
He winks and shuts the door again, and I stare at it in disbelief. Is this a game? Is he for real? Am I actually feeling bubbles of excitement and smiling like an idiot?
I really hope Lydia and Henley are having a better night than I am at this moment.
Chapter Five
Henley
This night sucks. I’m trying to have fun, dancing with Lydia and a few random guys, but my heart’s not in it. I can feel his gaze on me, and a surreptitious glance shows me I’m right. His eyes brush over me, removing every stitch of clothing in the process—at least that’s how it feels.
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.
Kasha has already called it a night, but Lydia is going strong, having a great time as one man after another claims a dance with her. It hasn’t escaped Anderson’s attention, and I’m sure she’s playing it up, trying to keep that frown on his face.
Men. Even when they don’t want us, even when they throw us away, they don’t want anyone else to take their place.
I’m more than ready to go, but I don’t want to leave Lydia, or drag her out of here when she’s getting a bit of revenge. My last drink was over an hour ago and I’m starting to sober up. After Davis ambushed me, I decided getting smashed tonight is not a good idea. I don’t want to be vulnerable when he’s anywhere near me since I seem to be prone to attacking him with my vagina when drunk Henley is in charge.
“I’m going out for some air,” I yell to Lydia, who nods and smiles before returning to grinding on the man in front of her.
There’s a small park across the street from the club, and the gazebo in the center looks like a good place to escape for a while. I kick off my shoes and carry them, enjoying the sensation of the cool, damp grass on my sore feet. Two nights of dancing in a row. What was I thinking? The sound of running water piques my curiosity and I pass the gazebo in search of the source.
A narrow path, dimly lit by moonlight, winds into a thin line of trees. Maybe it’s not the smartest move, but I push any reservation aside and follow the sound of water to a small gurgling creek. It’s beautiful here, a small clearing hidden from the street by trees and brush. With a sigh, I sit on the bank, dangling my feet into the cool water.
Approaching footsteps make me leap to my feet. What the hell was I thinking coming back here alone? It’s proba
bly a rapist, or a serial killer. I grab one of my shoes, prepared to use the heel as a weapon, when a deep chuckle fills the air. It’s Davis. Damn it. Where’s a serial killing rapist when you need one?
“What were you planning to do with that?” he asks, grinning at me.
“Smash a serial killer in the face.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I should go check on Lydia,” I mumble, stepping around him.
His hand grips my arm. “Whoa, stop running from me.”
“I’m not running!”
“You snuck out last night while I was in the bathroom.”
“We were done,” I reply with a shrug. It’s not like I was going to hang out until he started making excuses to get rid of me. I saved us the awkward after sex dance, so why is he complaining?
“We are nowhere near done, darlin’,” he growls.
Yep. The man actually growled. Before I can say another word, I’m scooped up and my legs wrap around his waist. Traitor legs. They weren’t supposed to do that. My back lands against a tree, the bark scraping my skin, but it doesn’t even register. Nothing does but his mouth on mine, his hands on my body.
“I want you under me this time,” he says, turning and placing me on the soft grass. He has my panties off in record time. I’m going to let him fuck me here, where anyone could catch us. I must’ve lost my mind. That’s what he does to me, the effect he’s always had on me, and I don’t know whether to love or hate it.
I’ve never seen a man get into a condom so fast. My hands grip his ass when he slams inside me, my fingers digging into his flesh, driving him faster, harder. “We’re not done, Henley,” he says. “Do you understand?”
Apparently, the inarticulate noise I make isn’t what he wants to hear.
“Understand?” he insists, pausing until I moan out a “yes.” I’d tell him anything as long as he doesn’t stop. There’s no slow buildup this time. I’m struck by a bone-jarring orgasm that races through my body for what seems like minutes. If anyone is nearby, they’re getting an earful, because I couldn’t be quiet if my life depended on it.
Davis groans long and loud seconds later. His whole body tenses, then relaxes on top of me and we lie there for a few moments, panting into the cool air. The night suddenly seems so still and quiet. “God, I love it when you scream for me,” he murmurs.
Regret seeps in. I can’t believe I did this again. No matter how determined I am to avoid him, all he has to do is get me alone and I go full-on slut. Cue the little devil on my shoulder telling me I could just use him for the week. Just have my fun and more great orgasms until the wedding week is over, then forget it ever happened. There’s no little angel to argue restraint or chastity; I killed that little bitch long ago. There’s only the ghost of pain past to remind me how he tore my young heart out and stomped on it.
“Let me up,” I order, and he rolls off of me. Sitting on the ground, he watches me try to straighten my wrinkled dress and mussed hair. A smug smile rests on his face while he enjoys my attempt to wipe away the evidence that I’ve been rutting in the grass like a dog. There’s no way it isn’t obvious, since I can feel the damp dress against my ass. I need to get Lydia and get out of here.
Of course, she won’t answer her phone. It’s probably tucked in her purse, and even if it isn’t, the music is way too loud to hear it. Davis approaches me, still wearing that smile I’d like to slap off of him. “Are you going to run off again? I’d like to spend some time with you, Hen. With clothes on.”
“Uh-huh, save the smooth bullshit for a woman who doesn’t know you. I have to check on Lydia.”
“You can’t run forever,” he calls as I rush back down the trail and across the street to the club.
It’s late and the crowd has thinned a bit. It isn’t hard to spot Lydia sipping a drink at the table. She giggles when I approach. “Looks like you’re having more fun than I am.”
“That obvious?”
“The leaf stuck in your hair kind of gives it away. And you have mud on the back of your leg.” Damn it. Damn Davis. She reaches up and plucks the leaf from my hair. “Let’s get out of here.”
We’re on our way out the door when Anderson and his bride step into our path. Lydia steels herself, lifting her chin and pasting on a strained smile.
Anderson gives a shit-eating grin. “Hi, Lydia, Henley. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to introduce you to my fiancée. Jane, this is Lydia and her friend, Henley. Lydia is an old friend of the family.”
Lydia’s jaw tightens. An old friend of the family, like she’s some dusty old aunt they invited out of pity, and not the ex he cheated on. It occurs to me that Jane may not know Anderson was seeing Lydia when they first got together. Maybe she isn’t to blame for falling for his shit any more than Lydia was. My attempt to sympathize with her is short lived.
Her smile is plastic as she extends her hand to shake each of ours. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m so glad you could come. Anderson told me he wanted some diversity at our wedding. I’m happy to see he succeeded.”
Diversity? The four of us are the same race, so I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Diversity?”
“Yes, he didn’t want the only invitations to go to the upper class, you know.” If her nose goes any further into the air, she’ll tip over backwards.
Bitch. I know her type. Born with a silver spoon up her ass. Probably never had to work a day in her life. Perfect makeup and nails, an expensive dress wrapped around her bulimic body. I had to deal with these catty rich bitches in school, and I’m sure not taking any shit from one now.
I fall into a thick Southern accent. “Well, it’s so kind of you to invite the riffraff.” I bend my leg up behind me so I can swipe a handful of mud from my calf. “Just because we’re peasants doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy a good shindig, you know.” Before she can react, I throw my arms around her in a hug and smear mud up the back of her white dress.
Anderson sees it, but she doesn’t realize what I’ve done. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ve got to find an outhouse. Afraid I ate too much, so I need to give birth to some food babies.”
I grab Lydia’s hand and walk away, leaving Anderson standing there with his jaw agape. I know what he was trying to do, that they were both trying to rub it in Lydia’s face. Anderson wants her to think he’s done better, found someone above her, like she’s the one who dumped him. I’m so pissed I could go back and beat both their asses.
“Thank you,” Lydia sighs, as we wait out front for a taxi. “I just couldn’t think of what to say. She’s so—”
“Vapid?”
“Beautiful,” she says, wiping her eye.
Ever want to shake the shit out of one of your friends to make them see reason? Yeah, I’m tempted. Instead I grab her arms and look her in the eye. “No, you’re beautiful, and you don’t need a ton of makeup or the thousand dollar dresses she hides behind. You can put sugar on shit, but that don’t make it a brownie. You’re better than her in too many ways to count.”
Lydia dissolves into tears and wraps her arms around me. “Thank you. I hate him. He always gets what he wants.”
Our taxi pulls up and we settle into the back seat. “This time I think he’ll get what he deserves.” An idea occurs to me and I grin at Lydia. “But maybe we can help that along. Let’s talk to Kasha. I’m sure she’ll be happy to cause some trouble. That girl is the queen of pranks and sabotage.”
***
Ugh! Why does he have to be here? It was setting up to be such a beautiful day. It’s bright and sunny with a gentle breeze. Warm water laps at my feet as I wade in. I’m just going to ignore him. After all, the beach is filled with wedding guests, along with a few others from the nearby hotels. If I don’t draw attention to myself, he probably won’t even notice me.
I sit down in the sand, letting the waves wash up to my waist. Eyes closed, head tilted back, I’m soaking in the rays and enjoying the peace. Until a shadow falls over me. I know who it is before I ev
en open my eyes. “Don’t you have other women to harass?” I groan.
“No one as fun as you.” His slanted smile makes my stomach knot. “A group of guests are headed to the zip lines. Want to go?” He gestures down the beach where two lines descend into the water.
“No thanks.”
“Scared?”
“Oh, don’t double dare me, then I’ll have to do it.”
Kasha is calling my name and when I look back, she points to the zip line tower, jumping up and down and waving for me to come. Damn it. With a sigh, I get to my feet. “Fine, let’s go.” It’s not that I have any problem getting on a zip line, I just don’t want to spend time with Davis if I don’t have to. I don’t trust myself.
It’s bad enough Kasha’s mother has two days of events planned she’s dubbed the Wedding Olympics. The first activity starts this evening and I doubt I’ll be able to avoid him.
Kasha, Lydia, and I get in line with everyone else and make our way up a ton of steps to the top of the tower. Davis is right behind us the whole way. Riders go two at a time, one on each line. Kasha and Lydia go together, which of course leaves me with Davis.
“Race you,” he says with a grin as we’re strapped into the harnesses.
I can’t resist. “Prepare to get your ass handed to you by a girl.”
The two women who fasten us in laugh and both give Davis a “come get it” smile. “Count of three,” one of women says, and we’re pushed off at the same time.
I don’t move as fast as I thought, and it’s not scary at all. It gives me time to soak in the gorgeous view. The wide expanse of ocean with its different shades of blue, the shoreline winding back and forth, dotted with swimmers and sunbathers. The sun on my face coupled with the wind in my hair feels amazing, and I forget we’re racing until Davis hoots as he hits the water.
The attendant helps him out of the harness just as I crash into the water a few feet away. Another attendant rushes to undo my harness while Davis treads water, grinning at me. A sudden intense stinging shoots across my upper thighs and the lower curve of my ass cheeks. Without thinking, I shove my hand down my boy short swimsuit bottoms and my hand lights up in pain as well.