Driven
Driven - Chapter One
Many readers were curious what Colton thought during his first meeting with Rylee when she fell out of the storage closet. I was curious too; the problem was I had no idea. I didn’t even know why he was wandering backstage in the first place.
This scene was my first attempt at writing Colton’s point of view.
I started it at least seven times, trying to figure his motivation for heading farther away from the gala rather than being in the middle of it. The scene took me a long time to write but I’ll forever look at it as the one that changed FUELED’s direction … for the better.
What. The. F*ck?
My body jolts with the impact as she slams into me. Fingernails dig into my biceps. A pile of wild, brown curls is all I see when I look down at the top of her head. Her shoulders shudder with each hyperventilated breath—a sound that goes hand in hand with the earsplitting scream that will inevitably happen next.
Thank you social media! You can take your goddamn tweets and stalker.com posts and shove them up your asses. Thanks for helping another faceless, frantic, fangirl find me.
What the f*ck is it with women attacking me in this place? First the auburn piranha in the alcove and now this.
Seriously? The damsel in distress route? Like I haven’t seen that one before. You’re one of millions, sweetheart. You want me to notice you, baby, you’ve got to have less clothes on. Well, unless you count thigh highs and heels. And nothing else. That’d sure as hell catch my attention.
I shift my feet but she doesn’t move. Okay, stalker girl, time’s up. Let the f*ck go so I don’t have to be a dick and pry you off of—
F*ck me running.
The air punches from my lungs when her eyes—f*cking magnificent eyes—look up at me from beneath dark lashes. Her head is still angled down so my only focal point is their unique bluish-purple color. Even with that crap smudged under them, the way she looks at me—shocked, terrified, relieved, all at once—stops the crass send-off from spewing out of my mouth.
What the f*ck is wrong with me? Hysterics plus female equals crazy. A surefire sign to get the f*ck away from her. Lesson learned a long ass time ago. She smells damn good, though. Focus Donavan, remember rule number one: Don’t ever dip the wick in the pool of crazies.
Her eyes break from mine, gaze slowly descending, and stop on my lips again, silently staring. Her body stiffens, fingers tensing on my arms, breath stopping momentarily before shuddering out in a fortifying sigh.
Wait for it. Wait for it. It’s coming. Her inevitable offer. The scripted rush of air and waste of breath where she tempts me with the wicked things she’ll let me do to her body in exchange for the bragging rights of spending a few hours with me.
Been there done that, sweetheart. Hence, rule number one. Shit—she can toss the salad any way she wants, it doesn’t mean that I’m gonna like the dressing.
She shifts onto her heels and stumbles further into me, firm tits pushing against my chest before jumping back like she’s touched a livewire.
That’s right, sweetheart, I’m electric.
It’s the first time I get a glimpse of all of her, and she’s definitely worth a second glance. She’s got more curves than I’m used to but f*ck if she doesn’t wear them well. My eyes devour and take in the come-f*ck-me heels, long, shapely legs, and the full, more than a handful-sized tits. And I’ve got big hands. I can’t help the quickening of my pulse. She might be crazy, but shit, fangirl has one smoking hot body.
I don’t hear the apology she fumbles through—her lame excuse why she was trapped—because my eyes travel further up and fixate on her mouth. Sweet Christ—perfect f*cking lips. Now those lips I can picture just how perfect they’d look wrapped around my cock. It takes everything I have to not groan aloud at the image in my head of fangirl kneeling before me, those eyes looking up at me, and her cheeks hollowing as my dick slides in and out of her mouth.
F*ck this. Since when have I ever followed the goddamn rules?
Ha. Rule breaker, heartbreaker. I’ll gladly take the title in exchange for a moment of fun with her.
Buh-bye rule number one.
I force myself to look away from her mouth and drag my gaze up to gauge the intention in hers. So she wants a wild night with the notorious bad boy? After the self-imagined porno I’ve just created in my head with her as the star, f*ck if I won’t give it to her.
But I’m going to make her work for it. Shit, what I’ve got is too good to give away for free. Fangirls are a dime a dozen, but I’m a f*cking two dollar bill.
She averts her eyes again, and I watch them wander. Yeah, she likes what she sees all right … I don’t think she has any idea who she’s up against.
Undoubtedly like a good a stalker should, she’s read the rags and thinks this is going to be easy—that I sleep with anyone that spreads their legs for me. She so wants to play. Little does she know, I’m in the mood for a good game of hardball.
She just keeps staring, and I can’t help the smile that curls one side of my mouth. Her eyes widen and her breath hitches. Oh yeah, she’s definitely game. Talk about swinging for the fences.
After a beat, she drags her eyes back up to mine. Dilated pupils, parted lips, a flush creeping into her cheeks. F*ck, I bet that’s how she looks when she’s coming. My dick stirs at the thought of being the one to put that look on her face as I slide into the prize between her thighs.
Then walk away from her. What is it they say? Easy come, easy go.
“No apologies needed,” I tell her, smirking at how this boring event just became a helluva lot more interesting. Batter up. “I’m used to women falling at my feet.”
Her head snaps up and confusion mixed with what I’m guessing is disgust flashes through those extraordinary eyes of hers.
Welcome to the big leagues, sweetheart!
She opens her mouth again. Flustered. Stumbling over her words.
I make her nervous. Good.
“Thanks. Thank you. The-the door shut behind me. It jammed. I panicked—”
When she speaks this time, I actually hear her voice. The telephone-sex operator rasp of it. Shit. My dick’s doing more than stirring now. The sex-kitten purr is enough to make a monk hard. “Are you okay? Miss—?”
She just stares at me. Frozen. Indecision and confusion warring across her incredible features. She’s questioning her resolve already? Not a chance in hell. She’s not going anywhere. I always finish what I start, and this—the chance to hear her screaming my name while I’m buried in her later—is by no means over.
Game. On.
I reach out, cup the back of her neck, and pull her closer to me. That’s all I plan on doing. A little touch to up the ante—force her to place her cards on the table or call her bluff. I pull her close enough to touch her lips, tease her a bit to let her know the stakes behind this unexpected game we’re playing.
But f*ck if I know what it is about her—something different, challenge or not—that’s got me reaching my free hand out and running it up her arm, across the curve of her neck, and over her cheek.
I don’t want to want her. Don’t need her. Shit, a simple text will have Raquel in my bed in a heartbeat for a nightcap. F*ck, she’s probably already there. Our arrangement may be nearing its end, but she’s still game.
And she has mad skills.
But there’s something about crazy fangirl that has me looking twice, has me forgetting this is a game.
Those eyes. Those curls, wild and fallen from her clip, looking like they’ve been f*cked loose. Those plump, perfectly parted lips. Sweet Christ. I just might have to let her win this game because damn, she’s not playing fair.
Options of how to play her flicker through my head. Dive right in and consider the consequences later or draw this out and have some fun with her?
Then she sucks in a ragged breath that let’s me know she’s affected. Let’s me know she’s bitten off more than she can chew. Hints at that little bit of vulnerability I see flicker in her eyes. And that sound—the subtle shudder telling me her body wants to betray her mind’s warning to steer clear of me—is such a f*cking turn on.
And desire overwhelms all logic.
Testosterone wins.
Just a little taste.
“Oh f*ck it!” I slant my mouth over hers and use her surprised gasp to slip my tongue between her now parted lips. To taste what she’s offering. Holy shit! Talk about knocking me off of my stride. The woman tastes like nothing I’ve ever had before. You hear addicts say that their first line of coke is what hooks them, causes them to do irrational things for the next fix. I finally get it.
Sweet. Innocent. Sexy. Willing.
F*ckin’ A.
And before I can take more of what I suddenly want very badly, game be damned, she struggles and breaks her lips from mine.
Only one thought fills my head. Clouds my resolve.
More.
Her pulse quickens beneath my palm. Her panted breaths mix with mine. Her eyes flash with confusion and fear. And desire.
More.
“Decide, sweetheart,” I demand, an unbidden ache settling deep in my balls and taking hold. “A man only has so much restraint.”
Her eyes, so much contradiction flashes through them; they say “come f*ck me” and “stay the f*ck away” at the same time. Her lips part and then close. Her hands fist my lapel, indecision warring across her stunning features. Why the sudden resistance when she’s getting exactly what she came here looking for? Did the stakes just become too real for her? Ah … a boyfriend then. How can she not have one when she looks like that?
She just stares at me, eyes blank but body still responding, as every nerve within me shouts to drag her against me and take until I get my fill of her addictive taste. Time’s up, sweetheart. Decision’s mine now. I’ll show her what she wants. Give her what the boyfriend doesn’t. She had her chance to walk away and she didn’t. I sure as hell am not. I always get what I want.
And right now, I want her.
I tighten my fingers on her neck, unable to hold back the smile on my lips as I think about pressing into her soft curves and wet p-ssy. And then I move. She resists as I claim her mouth. I’m skilled but far from gentle as I coax her trembling lips open and take my next fix.
One more taste.
That’s all I want. I lick my tongue against hers. Probing. Tasting. Demanding.
Sweet f*cking Jesus. That’s the only thought I can manage when she begins to respond, our bodies connecting, her tongue playing with mine. Her hands move, fingernails scraping along my jaw, and fist in my hair. A f*cking inferno burns its way down my spine and into my gut, a groan falling from my mouth as her body moves against my rock hard dick. Her soft yielding to my steel.
Every primal urge in my body begs to touch her, to claim her as mine. I drag one hand down the curved lines of her hips, our bodies vibrating with adrenaline and desire. I put one hand on her back pressing her into me, my cock against her stomach, my knee wedging between hers. She responds instantly, the Holy Grail between her thighs rubbing against my leg so I can feel her wet and wanting p-ssy through my slacks.
So f*cking responsive. Her body just complies with the subtlest hints from mine, reacts to the slightest touch. Takes selflessly. Submits willingly.
God, I want to corrupt her.
And then she makes the softest, most erotic f*cking sound I’ve ever heard. A gentle moan that begs and pleads and offers all at the same time.
And I’m decided. Consumed. Determined.
F*ck the game.
Mine.
I want her. Have to have her. I’m calling the shots now. Adrenaline hits me, coursing through me like the wave of the green flag.
I need to make her mine.
I nip her lower lip then lick away the sting. Pleasure to bury the pain. “Christ, I want you right now.” I murmur against her lips between kisses, my dick throbbing at the thought of slamming into her. My hands move to possess now. Desire fueling my fire. Fingers rub over hardened nipples just begging to be tasted as we crash against the wall. My hands roam to connect with naked flesh. I reach the silk of her nylons and skim my way up until I trace the lace tops of her thigh-high stockings. I groan into her mouth.
Motherf*cking perfection. Silk, lace, and skin. If it’s possible to get any harder, I just did.
I guess fangirl doesn’t want to be considered a dime a dozen.
As she gains confidence, her tongue taunts mine in a dizzying barrage of maneuvers. My fingertips snake up the bare skin of her inner thigh—smooth softness just pleading for me to lick, suck, and nip. I reach the swatch of lace at my awaiting heaven just begging to be ripped off.
“Sweet Jesus,” I murmur as I feel how wet the material is, how ready she already is for me.
“No. No—I can’t do this!” She pushes me back a step, and I watch her bring a trembling hand to her mouth. Her eyes tell me no, but her body? Her treacherous body vibrates with anticipation: chest heaving, lips swollen, nipples pebbled.
I force myself to swallow. To breathe. To regain the equilibrium she just shook and pulled out from under my always steady feet. I’ve had more women than any guy could ever ask for, but she just rocked my f*cking world with her lips alone.
She’s not going anywhere.
Mine.
“It’s a little late, sweetheart. It looks as if you already have.” Like you have any f*cking choice now. You started this, fangirl, and I’ll say when it’s finished.
Fire leaps into her eyes and she lifts her chin in insolence. My God, that look alone gives new meaning to the word sexy.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she spits at me. “Touching me like that? Taking advantage of me that way?”
We’re back to the damsel in distress thing again? “Really?” I scoff at her, running my hand over my jaw as I ponder what to say next.
It’s a little late for self-preservation, sweetheart.
“That’s how you want to play this? Were you not participating just now? Were you not just coming apart in my arms?” I can’t help the sliver of a laugh that escapes. “Don’t fool your prim little self into thinking that you didn’t enjoy that. That you don’t want more.”
I take a step closer and I can see a mixture of emotions flicker in her eyes. But most of all I see fear and denial. Resistance. Is she going to ignore what just happened between us? Fangirl just might be crazy after all. But f*ck-all if I don’t already crave my next taste of her.
And I have every intention of having it.
She watches as I lift my hand and trace a finger along the line of her cheek. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she instinctively moves her face ever so subtly in response to my touch. Oh yeah. She’s definitely still interested, so why is she fighting it so hard?
“Let’s get one thing clear,” I warn through gritted teeth, trying to mask my irritation at having to fight for something that all of a sudden became complicated. “I. Do. Not. Take. What’s. Not. Offered. And we both know, sweetheart, you offered. Willingly.”
She jerks her chin from my fingertips. Who knew defiance could be so goddamn arousing? And irritating. I can’t remember the last time I had to work to get a woman beneath me.
Her body vibrates with anger. Or desire. Of which I can’t tell. I step back into her personal space, pissed at myself that I’ve allowed her to affect me this much.
“That poor defenseless crap may work with your boyfriend who treats you like china on a shelf, fragile and nice to look at. Rarely used.” I shrug as if I don’t care, but all I want is a reaction out of her. Anything to tell me what she’s thinking behind her stoic fa?ade. “But admit it, sweetheart, that’s boring.”
“My boy—“ she stutters, hurt flashing in her eyes. Hmm. She must have just broken up with him. Perfect time for a pump and dump, then. “I’m not fragile!”
Bingo!
“Really?” I want to push more buttons. Get her to admit she wants me. I reach out and grip her chin with my thumb and forefinger to make sure she can’t hide from my stare. “You sure act that way.”
She jerks her chin from my hand as “Screw you!” grates from between her beautiful lips. The heat in her eyes holds me captive.
And to think I was going to pass up fangirl without a second thought.
“Oh, you’re a feisty little thing!” I can’t help the smirk on my lips. If she’s this lively now, I can only image how wild she’ll be between the sheets. “I like feisty, sweetheart. It only makes me want you that much more.”
So many emotions pass over her face that I can’t begin to comprehend them. She steps to the side of me, putting distance between us in our silent stand-off. Just as I think she’s about to speak, the door down the hallway opens, flooding the quiet corridor with noise from the party beyond. Right before fangirl whirls around at the sound, I see a flicker of relief on her face.
I glance around her to see an average-sized guy standing with his back to the door, eying us with blatant curiosity. For a second I can’t place him, but then realize I saw him earlier with some of the Corporate Care bigwigs. “Rylee? I really need those lists. Did you get them?”
Rylee? What the f*ck?
“I got sidetracked,” she mumbles to the guy as she glances back at me, her expression a mix of relief, regret, and disappointment. She works with him? For Corporate Cares? She says something else to the guy that I don’t hear because I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that crazy fangirl isn’t a fangirl at all.
Or crazy.
Rylee. It sounds vaguely familiar. I mentally roll her name around on my tongue, liking the way it sounds, the way it feels.
She skirts past me and avoids making eye contact before stepping into the storage closet. I stop myself from reaching out for her because we’re far from finished here. I follow her, hold the door open, and watch her jerky movements as she hurriedly shoves auction paddles into a bag. I can feel her co-worker’s eyes boring holes in my back as he tries to assess the situation. Guaranteed he’s telling me to step off.
The same way that I feel about him. Step off buddy so we can finish what we started here. I glance back to Rylee and she straightens up with the bag in hand, squares her shoulders, and walks past me without a second glance.
Anger fires in my veins. I do not get dismissed. “This conversation isn’t over, Rylee.”
“Like hell it isn’t, Ace.” She throws the words over her shoulder as she stalks down the corridor.
I watch her walk away. Hips swaying with purpose. Curves begging to be touched. Heels—heels I want left on with nothing else but those f*cking lace top stockings—clicking against the floor.
Since when have I ever considered a woman walking away to be one of the hottest f*cking sights I’ve ever seen?
The door closes behind them, and it’s silent once again. I run a hand through my hair and lean back against the wall, trying to wrap my head around the past twenty minutes. I blow out a loud breath, confused as to why I’m pissed.
You must be losing your touch, Donavan.
Shit, when they walk away, it’s supposed to be a good thing. Lessens the chance of complications. I don’t chase. It’s not my thing—never has been, never will be. There are too many willing women; why bother wasting my time on the ones that make things difficult? Why work for it when life’s complicated enough as it is? I f*ck whom I want, when I want. My pick. On my terms. To my benefit. Rules two through six.
But shit … that … her … how can I just let her—F*ck me!
Nobody walks away until I say I’m done. And I have every intention of finishing what I started with her. Checkered flag’s mine. I’ll definitely be crossing that finish line.
Here’s to a night of firsts.
First a brunette.
Next a pursuit.
Bring it on.
Wave that checkered flag, sweetie, because I’m gonna claim it.
Driven - Chapter Three and then some
As the reader, we assumed Colton had something to do with the rigging of the date auction. This assumption is one I will never divulge the truth to because I think it’s important for each person to create their own scenario. Regardless, we know that Rylee’s been auctioned off and she’s not too happy about it. She’s flustered, not thinking clearly, and just wants to go home.
As always though, her boys are front and center in her mind and that means she has to find the arrogant yet achingly handsome Donavan to collect her winnings from the bet. Little does she know the chain of events this meeting will trigger.
I enjoyed writing this scene. I knew Colton was arrogant, but what were his thoughts behind his comments? What happened after he walked away that night and went home? How did the wavy-haired, defiant-as-f*ck woman affect him?
F*ck my rules.
Addictive.
F*ck her defiance.
She’s mine.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
My eyes collide with hers as she steps out of the backstage door. The sneer on her face and fire in her eyes tells me she knows.
But that’s not possible.
She couldn’t have figured it out yet. But I’ll be damned if she’s not pissed off by the way she’s stalking those sexy-as-f*ck curves toward me right now. I can’t help my eyes as they drag over every inch of her body, wanting more than just the taste I got earlier. I want the whole f*cking meal.
And I want it now.
Patience is definitely not my virtue.
And I’m sure as f*ck going to steal hers.
I can’t help the smile that threatens the corners of my lips as I push myself off of the wall when she nears. A freight train of anger and she doesn’t even have a clue that I’m her f*cking fuel.
What I wouldn’t give to push her up against the wall and taste her again—crowd around us be damned—so long as I get my fix. She reaches up and holds her hand to stop me before I speak. F*ck! The woman does everything to try and turn me off, and all it does is spur me further the opposite way, arousing me like she wouldn’t f*cking believe.
“Look, Ace, I’m tired and in a really shitty mood right now. It’s time for me to call it a night—”
“And just when I was going to offer to take you to places you didn’t even know existed before.” I can’t help pushing her buttons. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. But f*ck if it’s not true. I have no doubt we’d set the sheets—if not the f*cking bed or floor or couch or wherever we crash—on fire. Those luscious lips of hers fall lax at my comment, and I figure I’ll keep her on her toes. Keep pushing those buttons. It’s just too much goddamn fun. “You don’t know what you’re missing, sweetheart.”
She snorts. She actually snorts at me standing here in her elegant dress, and f*ck me if that too isn’t a mix of sexy and adorable. “I’m wounded,” I say, clutching my heart in mock pain. “You’d be surprised what my mouth gets with those lines.”
Let’s see what she says to that one. My eyes trace over the outline of those lips that I want wrapped around my cock, those f*cking magnificent eyes looking at me with a trace of shock. Even after all of our interactions tonight, she still doesn’t know how to take me.
Good. Keep her guessing. Confusion is my advantage.
“I don’t have time for your childish games right now. I just had to endure humiliation beyond my worst nightmare, and I’m more pissed off than you can imagine. I especially don’t want to deal with you right now.”
“I do love a woman who tells it like it is,” I murmur to myself, unable to tear my eyes from hers. Or comprehend being told no. That’s a new one.
“So I’m going home in about ten minutes. Night’s over. I win our idiotic bet, so you better get your check and fill it out because you’re going home with lighter pockets tonight,” she rants and places her hands on her hips.
F*ck, there’s that defiance again that makes my balls tighten in anticipation. In unfettered lust. And she thinks I’m just going to write her a check and let her walk out of my life without having her? She’s sadly mistaken. I’m a take it or leave it kind of guy.
And I’m definitely taking this one. Too bad she doesn’t know it yet.
I don’t fight my smirk this time. Game on, baby. “Twenty-five thousand lighter, in fact.”
“No, we agreed on twen—” Her voice fades and I watch as it slowly hits her. The realization crashes like a tornado across her features and storms through her eyes. I can see her trying to fight it. Trying to resist the urge to throttle me.
And shit, if I thought defiance made her sexy, then anger makes her motherf*cking breathtaking.
“No—uh-uh. This is bullshit and you know it!” She glares at me with every ounce of hatred I think she can muster, and it only makes me more determined to have her. “That wasn’t the deal. I didn’t agree to this!”
I tuck my tongue in my cheek, trying to bite back the grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. “A bet’s a bet, Ryles.”
“It’s Rylee, you a*shole!” she hisses at me.
Testy. Testy. Ryles it is, then.
“Last time I checked, sweetheart, my name wasn’t Ace.” But when you’re screaming my name later, it can be anything you want it to be. I lean back against the wall and watch the emotions play over her face.
She’s so frustrated. Mission accomplished, buttons pushed. And now I have one feisty hellcat on my hands, and I bet sure as f*ck she’s going to be fun to try and tame. Then again, why tame her? A few scratches never hurt anyone.
“You cheated. You-you-aaarrgh!”
“We never had time to outline any rules or stipulations,” I explain with a raise of my eyebrows and a shrug of my shoulders. “You were pulled away. That left everything as fair game.”
Those lips of hers that I want to taste fall open and then close again to only fall back apart. I pull my thoughts from what else I’d like them to open and close around. Sweet Christ! I force my mind to focus on the here and now and away from what exactly is under that dress. I push myself off the wall and step toward her.
I can’t resist.
“I guess I just proved you do in fact lose sometimes, Ryles.”
I have to touch her.
Irresistible.
Mine.
“I’m looking forward to our date, Rylee.”
I watch her eyes follow my fingers as they move a loose curl of hair from her cheek. I catch the slight hitch in her breath, and I know I’ve got her. Know it’s only a matter of time now.
The pull is just too great. Resistance is futile. I graze a thumb over her cheek, wanting to feel her skin. Needing to feel that spark of current that vibrates between us. “In fact, more than any other date I’ve had in a while.”
She leans her head back, my thumb still on her cheek, and “Oh God!” falls from her mouth in exasperation.
The sound of her sex-kitten voice turns my insides, calls to some part deep within me, and I don’t like it one bit. The only part of me that should be affected should be my dick and my mind counting the minutes until she’s beneath me.
Or on top of me. Beggars can’t be choosers and f*ck if reverse cowgirl isn’t a mighty nice position.
See, Donavan? It’s the alcohol twisting things around making you think that feeling deep down is more than just the ache in your balls. C’mon, all you want is a quick, uncomplicated f*ck and an attempt to tame the wildcat.
That’s it. Nothing else.
I swear.
Unease creeps through me at the thought of only having her once, and I force myself to stop thinking this f*cking nonsense and grab the control back my dick has hijacked. I hear those words of hers echo through my mind, and I know exactly how to do it.
“Those words, oh God,” I mimic her and give in one last time to my need to touch her by running a finger down the side of her face. “Now I know exactly how you’ll sound when you say that while I’m buried deep inside of you.”
I love the look of shock that flashes across her face. Love the insolence in her expression as she lifts her chin and glares at me. Such a f*cking turn on.
“Wow! You sure think a lot of yourself, don’t you, Ace?”
Shit! She walked right into that one and I can’t resist. Just can’t f*cking stop myself from pushing those buttons of hers one last time before I walk away and leave her wondering whose court the ball is really in. I slip my hands in my pocket and lean into her, the smile on my face suggesting exactly what I want to do with her. To her. For her.
“Oh, sweetheart, there is definitely a lot of me to think about.” I laugh softly, loving the look I’ve just put on her face. “I’ll be in touch.”
I forgo the urge to touch her one last time. Taste her one last time. And I force myself to turn around and walk away. To put one foot in front of the other when I’d much rather be dragging her back to that damn storage closet and taking exactly what I want.
The chance to claim her.
Game f*cking on.
I walk out into the parking lot and thank f*ck Sammy is already there or else I might be tempted to walk back inside. Because f*ck yes her playing hard to get is a turn on, but experience has me wagering that given ten more minutes either I wouldn’t be going home alone or that storage closet just might have gotten some use.
Can’t say I have a losing track record.
I pull my phone from my pocket and laugh when I see the notifications blaring across my screen. Case in f*cking point. I thumb through the ten texts from Raquel. Each one dirtier than the first.
Sweet Jesus I could use a good f*ck tonight after all of that verbal foreplay and by the suggestions she’s sent to my phone, it’s gonna be a long, sweaty, sleepless night.
“Hey, Wood. Good night?” Sammy asks as I climb into the back of the Range Rover, fingers already untying my bowtie and undoing the noose of buttons closing my collar on my neck.
“You have no idea, Sammy,” I tell him and then laugh when my thoughts veer to how my evening has turned into the beginning of a good joke—so a redhead, a brunette, and a blonde walk in a bar—when I think of Bailey, Rylee, and Raquel.
He laughs and shakes his head, having been with me long enough that he knows how my life goes. Women willing for whatever I’m game for. Well except for the unexpected Ms. Thomas tonight.
Knowing what was beneath that dress has made it ten times harder to walk away without having her. Since when do I care what a woman’s wearing so long as it’s piled on the floor?
Normally I’d say she’s not worth my time, but I can’t remember the last time I had a challenge. Shit, women say the word no to me about as often as they keep their legs together at the knees. Never.
Christ, I should let it go. Write the check, Donavan. Leave her alone.
Don’t touch complicated—that’s my default. So why in the f*ck do I want to play with fire? Light the match to her flame and see how hot she gets.
Damn it to Hell.
I’m just horny. Pump primed and turned on from her defiance. I’ll lose myself in Raquel tonight—every tight f*cking inch of her—and realize I’m being stupid. That I shouldn’t opt for complicated when I can have easy.
Decision made. Mind-numbing sex. That fixes everything.
I’m just about to text Raquel back when my phone rings. I look down to see her name. Well, can’t get much easier than that.
Damn, I’m good. All that’s missing is the snap of my fingers
“Hey.” I smirk at Sammy meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“I’m naked. I’m wet. And my mouth is ready to suck your cock ’til you’re dry. I sure hope you’re coming home soon because my mouth is kind of empty and, baby, I’d love for you to fill it.”
My dick is already stirring to life, balls tightening. The need to come front and center. What red-blooded male wouldn’t be with that greeting? Shit.
“F*ck, baby, that sounds like Heaven … but I need to take a rain check.” My own words shock me. What the f*ck are you doing, Donavan? What is wrong with you? I hear myself yelling, my dick begging, but my mouth has a mind of its own.
“What?” Her voice is soft, disappointment evident.
“I’m sorry. My mom needs me to stay here and wrap up some of the charity shit for her. I’ll make it up to you, though. I was invited to some launch party for the new sponsor, Merit Rum. It’d be good exposure for you—media and big wigs and shit, okay? You know I wouldn’t pass up the chance to f*ck you unless it was unavoidable.”
I just used my mother to get out of f*cking Raquel. There is something extremely pathetic about my state of mind right now. Is the Apocalypse coming? Is Hell freezing over?
What. The. F*ck?
She accepts reluctantly, I apologize again, lie about being busy, and end the call. Sammy catches my eyes and just raises his eyebrows. “I take it I should drive to Broadbeach instead, now?”
I scrub a hand through my hair and sigh. “Yeah.” I shake my head trying to figure out what in the f*ck I just did. “Sammy, did I just pass up p-ssy?”
“Yep. Sounded like it. You feeling okay? Dick still attached? It didn’t fall off with all of the hobnobbing at the event?”
F*cking Sammy. Dude’s funny as hell. I grab my dick and adjust it. “Still there, Sam. Still there.” My voice trails off as my thoughts wander.
Rylee Thomas. It’s gotta be because of her. How could three f*cking hours of defiance make me look at wet and willing and think it’s too damn easy? That working for a piece of ass might be fun for a change.
It’s her f*cking fault I’m headed home to my hand and some lube. And even I know it’s f*cked up so I start to tell Sammy to head to the Palisades but nothing comes out of my mouth. Because as hot at as Raquel is and as good as she can ride me, my interest is elsewhere.
Back at the benefit. With curves and class and holy f*ck that ass of hers. And that’s just scratching the surface of everything I plan on touching.
My phone rings again and I’m immediately irritated. Raquel needs to drop it and leave me the hell alone. “What?” I bark the word into the phone, Sammy’s shoulders moving as he laughs at my self-inflicted misery.
“Wow. Someone needs to get laid. Relieve stress and shit.” Shit. Guess I should have looked at the screen. I was so lost in what I can’t have right now that I assumed it was Raquel and not Becks.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I thought you were Raquel.”
“Damn, dude.” He laughs. “I guess she’s holding out on you tonight by the pissiness in your tone. She make other plans or something besides being at your beck and call?”
F*cker. I grunt out a laugh. “Hardly. Just not on the menu tonight.”
Becks chokes out a cough on the other end of the line. F*ck, I just left him an open door to walk right through. “Well considering your menu is usually p-ssy pie, I guess you’re looking for a new diner to eat it out of besides Raquel.”
The smile is wide on my face but my silence tells him volumes.
“Who’d you meet, Wood?” I can hear the here we go again in his voice and just shake my head because he’s right. “What woman has made you look at Raquel like she’s an inconsequential notch in that belt of yours?”
The only belt notch I’m thinking of is mine coming undone so I can take Rylee beneath me and hear that oh God fall from her mouth. My head fills of lace-top thigh-highs, her smart-assed mouth, and violet eyes filled with contempt. Two of the three should turn me off but f*ck if it doesn’t make my dick jerk thinking of the whole f*cking package.
“Nobody.” I lie to protect myself from the one thing I fear the most.
That Rylee just might be the somebody I told myself I’ll never allow myself to have.
She’s a forever kind of girl and I’m a just for the night kind of guy.
But f*ck if it’s not going to be fun to see just how far we’ll each bend to break our own rules.