I clutched her arms in my hands before slamming my mouth down to hers. A soft moan escaped her, granting me an entrance. My tongue slid against hers as my cock grew harder at the feel of her soft skin beneath my fingers.
Her fingers threaded into my hair, and she tugged. Hard. It was my turn to take control, and before she knew what hit her, I had her body up against the hood of my Dodge Charger, her legs spread wide as I stood between them, her mouth still hot on mine.
I’d just gotten this car a few months earlier, but I found it was much better for my sex life than my old FJ Cruiser had been.
She was wearing jeans, and I backed away from her to unsnap the button and lower them down her legs, pulling her white lacy panties along with them. I slid both of my hands back up her legs slowly as she leaned back on my hood and panted with need.
I dragged my finger up her leg and swiped it through her pussy. She was hot, wet, and ready. Her hips jerked up toward me on a throaty moan, so I did it again.
“Oh fuck, Grant. Fuck yes.” She moaned my name over and over, wanting more as I took my sweet time with her. We had all afternoon, and I had never been selfish when it came to pleasing my women.
I was, however, going to tease the fuck out of her. I wanted to make her beg me to stick my cock in her.
I pushed one finger into her and held it there. Her fingers clenched my hair. If she kept doing that shit, I was going to end up with a goddamn bald spot.
“Give it to me, Grant,” she moaned, and I didn’t move my hand.
“Tell me what you want,” I demanded.
“I want you.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“To fuck me.”
“I’m going to need you to be a little more descriptive,” I said, pulling my finger out before plunging it back in again.
“To fuck me on top of this car.”
I chuckled. “Oh, Alyssa. You said you wanted to play games. You made me promise we’d play games, actually,” I said, drawing my finger out slowly before ramming it back in. “So I’m going to need you to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”
“I want you to finger me with two fingers.”
I pushed another finger in, and I was rewarded with another moan. I played the game as I stilled both fingers inside of her.
“Grant,” she said, her voice a plea.
“Yes, Alyssa?”
“Faster. Finger me faster.”
I followed her directions, and her moans got louder as she came closer and closer to climax.
The brief thought flashed through my mind that my neighbors could hear her, but I’d had louder girls in this very garage before.
Just as she started clenching around me, I withdrew both fingers from her body.
“Don’t fucking stop now,” she spat out at me.
“No?”
She sighed in frustration. “You’re kind of a douchebag.”
I shrugged and grinned. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“Damn straight you’re not.”
“You’re a feisty one.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“So what do you want?”
“I already answered that question.”
“So all you want from me is two fingers?”
“No. I want you to fuck me.”
“How bad?”
“You bring me seconds away from an orgasm and stop? I’d say pretty bad.” She was panting, and it was hot.
Her fingers started trailing down her body so she could provide her own relief, but I grabbed her hands in mine and held them above her head. She groaned as I leaned forward and kissed her neck, dragging my tongue across her skin.
I felt her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to her. I pushed my hips toward her, my now very hard and still contained cock thrusting against her. More of those sexy little moans came from her as she arched up into me, trying to create some friction for her release. But I wasn’t about to let her come without being inside of her.
There was nothing in this world quite like being inside of a woman as her body clenched around me with a powerful orgasm.
I pulled my hips back and felt her trying to draw me back in toward her.
“Fuck me, Grant. Fuck me now.”
I pulled my lips back from her neck and gazed down at her.
“Please fuck me.”
And there it was. She wanted me, and that feeling of power, the fact that I held her pleasure, was what I craved most from women.
“Only because you asked me so nicely,” I whispered, and then I lowered my jeans, put on the condom I kept in my wallet, and rammed into her, holding still once I made my way in just like I had with my fingers.
“Move, Grant. Move fucking fast.”
Her wish was my command.
I pulled back and pushed forward, thrusting my hips toward her with power. She yelled out my name, encouraging me to pull back and push forward again.
I set a fast rhythm as I pounded into her. I enjoyed watching her face as I fucked her. She was a nice girl, and I had a brief moment of regret that nothing would go beyond this fun time on the hood of my car with her. But that’s just how it had to be.
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she yelled.
I wanted to tell her I was trying to do exactly that, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment with a sarcastic comment.
Her body tightened quickly since I’d brought her so close to release with just my fingers. She yelled out, screaming my name as she came. I was getting close, and when a woman clenched around my dick like that, it always sent me over the edge. She came down from her orgasm and I pumped powerfully into her a few more times before I came. Hard.
She clutched me to her, and I found myself wishing we’d taken the time to remove her shirt and bra before our shenanigans. Nuzzling a breast after some good sex was always a favorite pastime of mine.
I sighed in contentment as I pulled out of her, and she groaned.
Now came the awkward part. Since I’d taken her back to my place, I was obligated to invite her in. But doing that also created those expectations I was trying to avoid. She seemed like the kind of girl who understood where I was coming from, but she was still a girl. From my experience, most of them wanted more than a quick bang on the hood of my car.
“Want to come in for a drink?” I asked, feeling pretty gentlemanly for offering but secretly hoping she’d decline.
“I’d love to.”
This was going to be a long afternoon.
I couldn’t help but blame Rachelle once again. Fucking Rachelle did this to me.
And by “this,” I meant that she was the one who made me the impatient bastard I was being with Alyssa.
I really hadn’t wanted to invite her in because I had already gotten what I wanted out of her. Before Rachelle, I wasn’t the guy who treated women like that. I wanted the same things everyone wants—a relationship with one person who I could love for the rest of my life. Someone to come home to. Someone to walk the dog with. Someone to argue with and make up with.
Rachelle and I were friends first, but I’d always wanted more. Her dark eyes, olive skin, and perfect body—soft and toned at the same time—pulled me in, clenched at my heart, and never let go.
Never. Not even after everything we had been through. Not even after she had broken my heart.
Twice.
So here I was, still in love with a woman who I could never have, a woman who fucked me up for all other women who would follow her. Alyssa, poor sweet and sexy Alyssa, was just one more woman on that list.
Rachelle was the reason why I led the life I did. I kept trying to find something—anything—that would feel like it felt with her, but I couldn’t. No one compared.
Sure, there were a few I’d slept with more than once or twice, but after the third or fourth time, I knew I’d never feel half of what I felt for Rachelle. It wasn’t fair to the others when I always compared them to her, so I tossed them out and moved on
to the next one.
I wasn’t trying to replace her.
I was trying to move past her.
But my heart was stuck on her, and it threw my life into a slow motion dance I absolutely loathed with a dark passion.
I was forced to listen to that radio station that plays all the oldies as I was growing up, and one of those songs started playing in my head.
“Love Is All Around.” One of those catchy songs from the sixties by some band I couldn’t remember, but it was legit. Love was literally all around me. I saw my friends falling in love, getting married, and having kids. Hell, my best friend was about to marry my sister. Soon enough the two of them would have kids running around and they’d be calling me “Uncle Grant.”
But none of that shit was on my radar. I was fully aware I had thrown up a protective shield after what Rachelle did to me, but I was in no position to take that shield down. Maybe ever.
After Alyssa left later that night, I went straight to bed. I was exhausted after another round of sex—okay, two rounds—with her, and I had a long day ahead of me the next day.
But worse than that, I was confused.
I was still thinking about Avery.
I had just spent the entire day with another woman, but Avery never left my mind.
I glanced at my phone, knowing her number was in there.
Would it be weird to text her? Just to see how she was doing?
I hadn’t done it yet even though I had seen her the past few Fridays at our softball games. We hadn’t had much time to flirt since that first game. Somehow someone always ended up sitting between us or interrupting our conversations. But that didn’t mean she’d left my mind.
Yeah, texting her would be weird. I wanted to, but I reminded myself she was off limits.
But maybe it wouldn’t be weird to text her about the bachelor party. That was why she wanted to exchange numbers in the first place, and now the wedding was only four weeks away. We’d need to get our plan together fairly soon.
I supposed we could easily talk about it while we drank beer before or after one of our games, but she was on my mind, and a part of me wanted to text her so she’d know I was thinking about her.
I pulled up her contact info. Does two weeks before the wedding for the bachelor party work for you? —Grant Carpenter
I kept it simple and direct. I focused on the reason why we exchanged numbers in the first place. If the conversation led to other topics, well, it wouldn’t be because of me.
I couldn’t help my smile at her quick reply. Works for me. I’ll find out if it works for Q. You don’t need to sign your texts.
Didn’t know if you would know who I was. —Grant
You texted me with your number the night of the engagement party. —Avery
I laughed when she signed her name.
What are you planning for the bachelorette party? –G
Naked pillow fights, dildos, Jello shots, and lots of male/male porn. –A
I could get on board with naked pillow fights, but not when it involved my sister.
Please never give me the image of my sister in a naked pillow fight again. –G
My apologies. That was the pre-party before we pick her up. –A
Now that’s an image I can get on board with. –G
What do you have planned for the bachelor party? –A
Hookers and blow. –G
Such a stereotypical bachelor party. –A
Fine, then. Naked pillow fights with strippers. Cigars and scotch. –G
Now that sounds like fun. Wish I could be there. –A
I wanted to write back and tell her I wanted her there, too. I wanted to write back and tell her I wanted to get into a naked pillow fight with her. I wanted to tell her how I wanted her to strip for me.
But I didn’t.
This was my sister’s friend, and I already knew I wanted nothing more than a night with her. And she would probably just be another in the line of women who would want more than a night or two.
I was an asshole, but I wasn’t enough of an asshole to do that to one of my sister’s friends. Not again, at least. I respected my sister too much for that, and I didn’t want to hurt their friendship because I was terrified of a relationship. I’d already done it once, and I couldn’t do it again.
So I did the most gentlemanly thing I could think to do, and I ignored her comment.
Let me know if that weekend works. –G
Her reply was slower, and I had a feeling it was because she wanted to continue the direction of our conversation. I didn’t mean to hurt her by cutting it short, but it was just easier that way.
Will do. Night, G. –A
Night, A. –G
CHAPTER 4
Somehow we had made it to the weekend before Quinn and Reed’s wedding, and we were in the final game of our co-ed softball tournament. We had made it to the championship game after a season of ups and downs, but mostly ups. Our record was four and one, and really we had a team of extreme all stars. I forced myself to avoid Avery, knowing it was dangerous to get involved with her even though I found myself drawn to her.
I felt the sexual tension between us, but I couldn’t give in. It was an uphill battle, but it would be stupid to hook up with her, to give into one night when I knew she deserved more.
Every week when I arrived at the bar for happy hour before the game, I glanced around the room to see if she’d gotten there before me. And every time my eyes met hers from across the room, whether she’d gotten there first or I had, I felt the heat pass between us. Her eyes sought mine out as much as mine sought hers, and that was the thing that scared me more than anything else.
Softball had been an all-around great idea. Our team had bonded together, sharing stories after the games while we drank beer together. Since most of us were involved in Quinn and Reed’s wedding, our bond was only that much stronger, and as the weeks grew closer and closer to their wedding date, I could feel the excitement spreading through the team.
Even though Quinn was my little sister, I found myself looking at her through a new lens. She’d become a friend to me in many ways, especially now that she was marrying one of my closest friends. I found myself enjoying spending time with the two of them as a couple, and I briefly wondered what it would be like to spend time with them on a double date with Avery.
I banished the thought as I threw another strike. I needed to focus, but I was severely distracted. I was fairly certain the distraction came from the girl in the tight turquoise tank top standing on second base behind me.
Our league played on a time limit. We were in what would be the last inning, and we were down a run. I needed one more out, one tiny strike, and then we needed to score two runs to win.
The winning team got a two hundred dollar gift certificate to the bar plus a trophy. Two hundred at the bar meant a really fun night, but more than that, I had a strong competitive streak.
I threw another pitch, and this one was a little inside. The ump called a ball.
Fuck.
I pulled down on the bill of my baseball cap, lowering it down on my forehead. It was a nervous habit when I was playing ball. The sun was shining in my eyes, and all I could think about when I needed to be focusing on a strike was the fact that Avery was standing just behind me.
I chewed a little harder on the wad of gum in my mouth, snapping it loudly. It was another nervous habit.
I tossed the ball in, and the girl at the plate whiffed, missing the ball completely.
That meant we were up to bat.
Brandon was up first, Avery was on deck, and I was in the hole.
Brandon grounded right between first and second, managing a base hit. Avery was up next. She glanced at me before she walked to home plate.
“You’ve got this, babe,” I said, trying to be encouraging as I saw the nervousness in her eyes. She nodded once and took the plate.
She swung at the first pitch, which was totally outside. The strike unnerved her, so I
yelled out some more encouragement. “Wait for your pitch, Ave!”
The next pitch was another ball, and she stood back as it crossed outside of the batter’s box. She glanced back at me, and I grinned.
She turned back to the pitcher, and when the ball came her way, she hit it. Hard.
Impressively hard.
Hard enough to turn me on a little.
But that was nothing new.
The ball flew between first and second base, landing in the perfect spot for right field to take too long to get to it. Brandon flew past second and landed on third as Avery ran through first. Our dugout cheered like a bunch of maniacs for Avery, me included, and then I was up.
I could do this. I just needed to hit it hard enough for Avery to score. I just needed a triple.
The first ball came at me, and it was a definite ball. I waited.
The next one was outside, so I waited again.
The third one was mine. I swung my bat and felt the familiar crack when the bat connected with the ball. There were few other feelings as satisfying to me.
I hauled my ass to first, checking where the ball ended up. It fell between left and center field, all the way back to the wall, which meant whoever was playing those positions would have to run their asses off to get the ball.
I had this.
I glanced back and saw the team high-fiving Brandon. Avery was ahead of me, just getting to second as I rounded first and headed her way. I was fast, and I found myself gaining on her. She was almost to third, and I was just by the shortstop.
“Ave, head home!” I yelled. I was right behind her, and I heard the yelling before I saw it happen.
She ran across the plate just as the ball came in. The catcher missed the ball coming at her from left field, and the ball bounced off of her mitt and headed right toward Avery. I watched in utter horror as the ball headed toward her. It was like everything happened in slow motion, and I yelled out, “Ave, watch out!”
She turned toward me and the ball whizzed just past her face. If she hadn’t turned at the sound of my voice, it definitely would’ve hit her, most likely either in the back of the head or the face.
I ran across the plate with a grin despite my near heart failure.
We won.
Second Opinion Page 3