by Madison Faye
He nods. “Nice to meet you, Taylor.”
“Nice to meet you too, West,” I whisper.
His jaw clenches, and he turns. He grabs his tools and tosses his shirt over a bare, muscled, tanned shoulder. He looks at me once more, and then he’s gone out the door.
“What a tool,” Matt grunts as he steps into the kitchen again. “What’s with the no shirt? He think I’m some sort of fag who’s going to tuck twenties into his ass?”
I frown. “Uncle Matt, it’s like two hundred degrees in here.”
He grunts. “Whatever.” He turns to me, and I hate the way he grins at me.
“Listen, you got plans tonight?”
“Um—”
“I got some buddies playing a poker game tonight, and I bet if you wanted to come by…” Matt grins disgustingly, his eyes sweeping over me. “Well, I bet you’d be a real hit with the fellas,” he purrs.
I want to throw up.
“Oh, I-I think I’ve got something going on.”
Matt rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Well, text me if you want to come over and have some fun with the guys.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” I mumble, mentally sticking a finger down my throat.
“And don’t forget to lock the place, yeah?”
Matt scowls at me before he steps back outside and slams the door shut. I let out the stream of air I’ve been holding inside through pursed lips. I sink against the counter—the very counter where West just made my entire body and soul ache and whimper for more.
I bite my lip, shivering as my core tightens. I squeeze my thighs together, and I gasp a little at the throb of heat between them.
West Farrow just blew into my life hotter than the heatwave outside. He just melted me more than any hundred-degree kitchen has all week.
…And I want more. I want a lot more.
Chapter Four
West
My pulse races. My hands close to fists over and over again, and my cock is fucking harder than it’s been possibly ever. I can taste the salty sweetness of sugar and sweat from her lips—this intoxicating mix that has the beast inside of me roaring for more. I want to turn back and go kick that fucking back door in. I want to knock out that disgusting prick of an uncle of hers and go right back to where we left off.
And I don’t want to stop this time until she’s coming all over my fucking cock.
I close my eyes and sink my forehead against the side of the truck cab. But suddenly I hear footsteps behind me, and I whirl at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Hey, pal.”
I groan. It’s Matt, Taylor’s creepy fucking uncle.
“Mr. Conway,” I growl, turning towards him and leaning against the truck.
“Kinda looked like you mighta had your hand in the cookie jar back there, buddy.”
I tense, my jaw grinding. “Excuse me?”
Matt grins and starts to laugh. “Nah, I’m just fucking with you, man. But seriously, how about Taylor?”
I frown deeper. “What about her?”
He grins. “Pretty girl, huh?”
Fucking gross. This is his fucking niece he’s talking about.
“I’ll be back tomorrow to finish up, Mr. Conway,” I grunt, ignoring what he just said about her.
“Yeah, yeah but hang on. I’m talking about Taylor.”
“And I don’t think you should be,” I growl.
He laughs. “Naaah, don’t worry. She’s just my adoptive niece. Or, something.” He shrugs. “Her mom is my adoptive sister. We ain’t related or anything.”
I resist the urge to tell him he’s still a fucking creep, but only because I know Gramps needs this gig.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Con—”
“How much?”
I freeze, my hand curling into a fist.
“Excuse me?” I hiss, half turning back to him.
“Not for… you know, I can’t promise that,” he chuckles. “But I mean, what’d it be worth to you for me to...”
He winks.
“You know, to set something up. Throw in a little extra and I’ll throw in some drinks to get her all loosened up for—”
I roar, and Matt almost screams when I grab him by the throat, whirl, and slam him up against my truck. My other hand pulls back, and I snarl, about to send my fist through his fucking disgusting face.
“Whoa! Whoa!” he sputters. “Chill the fuck out, man!”
“You watch your fucking mouth,” I hiss through snarling teeth.
He stares at me, aghast. “You-you work for me!” He sputters. “You little fucking prick! You work for me, understand?!”
“No,” I snarl, baring my teeth at him. “No, I work for—”
“You work for your Gramps,” Matt sneers. “Oh I know.” He smirks at me. “You know the people I know in this town? I could fucking sink that little shithole business of his, you know. Some bad review from me and my pals?” Matt snorts. “Game over, douchebag.”
“Listen to me,” I growl.
“No, you listen to me, fuckwad,” Matt sneers. “Why don’t you mind your fucking manners. I was just trying to get you some pussy, man. Jesus fucking Christ.”
I growl dangerously, and he laughs. “Oh, what, you got a little crush? She’s a cutie man, hey, I get it.” His smile fades, and he shoves me away. My hand falls from his collar, and he sneers at me.
“You ever lay a fucking hand on me again, and I’ll pay someone to cut if off. You understand?”
“Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you, prick,” Matt spits. He smooths his shirt, glaring at me. “You want a little fun, you let me know. If not, fuck off back to your shop and get that part back to me first thing in the morning. Got it?”
I frown, silent.
“Got it?” Matt hisses. “I hope you do, because if not, I’m fucking nuking that fucking HVAC business and running your Gramps out of fucking town. We understand each other?”
I don’t say shit, but I back away. Matt grins triumphantly.
“Good boy,” he chuckles. “Now sit. Stay.”
My teeth grind almost painfully, and my fists are shaking with the need to pound him into the pier. But I resist. I hold myself back.
Barely.
Matt strolls off with a final look. He gets into a cheap, rusted looking Corvette, and the gears grind as he skids off into the night. I get into my truck and slam the door shut in fury. The engine roars, and I squeal out myself, off into the night.
I take the beach road down the shore away from the pier. With the windows down and sea air blowing in, I calm a little more. The sun glowing low and red over the horizon takes a little more of the edge off too.
But that’s just the Matt part of what’s twisting me up. Because the other part is Taylor, and no ocean breeze or sunset is going to erase the taste of her lips or the feel of her heat.
I groan, gripping the wheel tight. Fuck, one taste, and I know I’ll never have enough. One moment with her, and I know I’m ruined for any other woman, forever. I glance at the waves crashing down on the beach to my right, and I give the truck a little more gas, roaring back home.
A few minutes later, I pull off the main road down my little sand-swept drive through the dunes. I pull up in front of my little beach surf shack, and I smile. It’s a beat-up looking single story on stilts—grey, weathered wood and all. But it’s been home since I got back from the Middle East, and I fucking love it.
It’s everything I need, and nothing more. A bedroom, a kitchen, a living room, and a big deck looking out over the ocean. And a rack full of boards and a hook for my wetsuit. It’s no sexy bachelor pad, but like I said, it’s all I need.
I step out of the truck, and I frown. Well, it’s almost all I need. It was all I needed, until today.
…Until I met Taylor.
I groan again at the memory of kissing her, and tasting her—of touching her, and feeling her gasp against me. My cock throbs and aches in my shorts, and I grunt.
Shit, I need to get this
girl out of my head. And I only know of one way to do that.
Some guys drink or get fucked up on drugs to forget things from war. Others lose themselves in women or just go pedal to the metal until they crash. But for me, the only thing that’s ever cleared my head is surfing.
I strip down and suit up quickly. The sun is fading purple over the horizon, but it’s all the light I need. I grab a short board and plunge in, grinning as the water welcomes me home. I paddle out, feeling more and more calm as I get deeper. I wait for the right moment, letting a few waves go until I spot the one for me. I paddle, my grin splits my face, and my pulse roars.
I catch it, pop up on the board, and I let out a fucking roar as I ride that motherfucker hard all the way back to shore.
I stay out, catching a dozen more until it’s too dark to see shit. I ride one last wave back in, and this time, I pull my ass out of the water with a huge grin on my face. I rack the board and peel off the wetsuit and swimsuit.
Naked, I grab a beer from my fridge and sit out on the deck. There’s no one out here on the dunes besides me, and hell, if there are, they can damn well look, I guess. I sink in my chair and take a swig of the beer.
I lie to myself.
I tell myself I’m fine now, and that everything about today is out of my head. But I know in second that it’s bullshit, because instantly, my mind goes right back there.
…To Taylor.
I imagine her lush pink lips open and moaning in pleasure. I imagine her long, tanned legs spreading wide for me, her blonde hair tangled over her pretty face and her pert breasts thrust upwards for the tasting.
I picture spreading those thighs and sliding between them, eager for that hot little cunt. My cock throbs and thickens, swelling rock-hard as I sit there in the chair. My hand drops to it, and I grunt as I wrap a fist around my pulsing cock.
I stroke, imagining it’s her pretty mouth bobbing on my thickness. I growl, and my abs flex, and I picture gorgeous Taylor sinking down every swollen inch of my cock, her hot little barely legal pussy squeezing me and milking the cum from my balls.
My cock lurches and pulses, and suddenly, the orgasm slams into me out of nowhere. I grunt, my balls tighten, and my cum begins to spurt hot and thick from my swollen head. Hot white ropes splatter down over my hand, my balls, and my abs, making a fucking mess of me. But I just keep stroking, imagining her hot little body bouncing on my cock, coming for me and taking every fucking drop of my cum deep against her womb.
I sit back, panting, my muscles still clenching and spasming, and my thoughts still very much on Taylor Conway.
…This could be a problem.
Chapter Five
Taylor
I wake up the next day feeling something I haven’t felt in a long time.
…Happy.
I wake up smiling and grinning like an idiot, and it doesn’t take any sort of deep introspection to know why. It’s because last night, for the first time ever, a man truly and utterly swept me off my feet.
Last night, I knew wanton lust for the first time. I crashed headfirst into West Farrow, and I know without a doubt that something very serious has changed in my life. And I know there’s no going back.
I’ve been dreaming about his lips and his hands all night. I’ve been moaning at the feel of that huge thick bulge in his shorts since he pulled away from me last night. God, I mean I left the shop last night and drove back to Matt’s place. Mercifully, he was at his poker match, but I still locked my door and shoved the dresser in front of it. I did my usual sweep for hidden cameras, because I read something about them online, and Matt is exactly the sort of disgusting creep to do that.
But after that, it was just me and my fantasies of West.
I stripped, showered, and then slid naked into bed. I’ve never had a man’s hands on me, though I’ve had my own plenty of times. But this time, it felt different. This time, it was as if West’s hands were guiding mine, and showing me exactly how he’d touch me. I’ve made myself come a million times before, but it’s never even been close to how it felt last night.
Last night, the memory of West’s possessive kiss and his powerful grip had me screaming and thrashing and seeing freaking stars as I came. The replays of his fingers poised to slide into my eager pussy left me ragged and gasping for air, coming harder than I’ve ever come before.
So, yeah, that’s why I’m grinning like an idiot when I wake up.
I shower and dress quickly before I dart out of my room. Uncle Matt is passed out on the sofa in his living room with a can of beer leaking onto the floor. I wrinkle my nose and tiptoe out to start my car. I’m never excited to go to work at the Buns Out shack, but today, I am.
Today, I’m going to see West again, when he shows up this morning to put the last parts on the AC unit.
Part of me knows I’m being a silly little girl. I know my inexperience is almost certainly making this something bigger than it is. I mean, he saw a girl making eyes at him, he made a move, and I willingly let him. I’m not naïve—or at least, I’m not that naïve. It stings a bit when I think about it, but I know what the reality probably is.
West is no knight in shining armor ready to carry me away. But he is an insanely hot, growly, older guy who makes my knees weak and my panties soaked. And he makes me forget about the rest of my life right now. The creepy, disgusting uncle. The shit job. The parents who’ve always viewed me as more of a needy roommate than anything else, who moved to another country the second I graduated high school.
I pull up outside the cinnamon bun shack and get out to open up. I’m back in a fresh and clean stripper outfit—aka the bun shop uniform—and I’m sweating the minute I step inside. God, I can’t wait until West fixes this freaking AC.
I’ve just finished setting up and opening the window for business, when there’s a knock at the back door. I grin like an idiot, beaming as I skip to the back door and open it cringingly fast. But West doesn’t look at me like I’m a dork with a crush. He grins at me widely, and those eyes burn right into me.
“Hey again,” he growls.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“I’m back to cool you down.” He grins.
I blush bright red.
“Hopefully I do a better job than last night,” he purrs. I blush even deeper, biting my lip at the double meaning of his words.
“I think you did a pretty good job,” I say thickly. I can’t believe I’m talking to him like this, but he brings this out in me. He’s making me want to be sultry, and sexy, and it’s a thrill I’ve never felt before.
“Until we were interrupted,” he rumbles.
I swallow thickly as he steps inside, closing the door behind him. My breath catches with him standing over me like this, so freaking close to me that I just want him to reach out and grab me.
“Until that,” I whisper back.
He frowns slightly. “How old are you?”
I grin, feeling that temptress inside of me roaring out at his closeness.
“How old do you think I am?” I purr back, trying to be sexy.
His lips purse. “I think I don’t want to play that fucking game at all.”
I grin. “I’m eighteen.”
“Sure about that,” he grunts.
“Want to see my ID?”
“Yes.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m eighteen, okay? It’s fine.”
He shrugs, and I sigh. “Okay, fine, jeez.” I march over to the rack of shelves by the storage closet and grab my wallet out of my purse.
“Here,” I giggle, handing him the ID.
He takes it and groans. “Jesus.”
“What?”
“Your birthday was like two months ago.” He looks up at me with a frown, but even I can see the hunger in his eyes.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “See? Eighteen.” I bite my lip, feeling wild and reckless as I step closer to him. “Barely,” I whisper.
West groans deeply, savagely.
“And you’re Matt’s niece.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Unfortunately. He’s kind of a disgusting creep.”
“Yeah, picked up on that.” West grins, rolling his eyes.
“So, you just always wanted to work at a cinnamon bun shop?”
“Oh, definitely,” I throw back dryly. “Just like you always wanted to fix air conditioners and get all dirty and sweaty.”
He grins. “Maybe I did. Maybe I like being dirty and sweaty.”
“Well maybe I love being sticky.”
God, if my mouth could just shut the fuck up sometimes, that’d be great.
“You guys open?”
Mercifully, I’m saved from my own word vomit by a customer at the window. I glance back at West, and I shudder when I see the heat in his eyes.
“Better get to work,” he growls quietly. “Looks like it’s going to be another hot one today.”
Tell me about it…
Regretfully, I make my way to the front of the shop, and another day in sweaty, sugar-frosted paradise begins. The first few customers are fine, followed by some real annoying touristy types. About half an hour in, though, suddenly a guy in all black strolls up to the window.
“Hi!” I smile. “What can I get you today?”
He grins wickedly. “How about you show me those tits?”
I blink, my jaw dropping. “Excuse me?”
He laughs. “Tits, baby. And while you’re at it…”
It happens to fast, I don’t even see him reach into his belt. But suddenly, right there pointed right at me, is a gun. My heart stops, and it feels like the whole freaking world just pauses around me.
“Open the register, honey,” the guy growls. “And I want every fucking cent or I’m gonna put a fucking hole in that pretty little—”
He grunts as something slams into him, tackling him right over the counter and slamming him into the ground outside. I gasp, and it takes me a second to realize it’s West, who’s just jumped through the freaking takeout window to tackle the guy.
West roars, kicking the guys gun away and straddling his chest. His fists rain down onto the would-be robber, bloodying his face as the guy groans in pain. West whips his head around, pausing as his eyes lock onto mine.