Not the Hot Chick: A BBW New Adult Serial Romance (Not the Hot Chick series Book 1) (3 page)

"Ah. Then you moved up into mixology."

"When I turned legal, yeah. I work nights, take business classes a few days a week."

"That must keep you busy."

"I've got a lot of ideas for the Shamrock. It started out as a little neighborhood hole-in-the-wall. A place for working men to stop off for a beer on their way home from the job. But you know, a lot of those jobs have dried up or left the city. And we're so close to the colleges, why not appeal to the students? I finally got the old man to see things my way and we revamped the place. So now the place is banging. But it's still the Shamrock. My dad and granddad won't even think of changing the name to something more modern."

She loved listening to him talk about the bar, loved his animation and enthusiasm. He was a smart, ambitious guy. Jessi had been so wrong to write him off as "just another townie."

They were having such a nice conversation that Layla forgot about being nervous. She didn't realize she'd finished her beer until she tipped the bottle to her lips and discovered it empty.

Cam had finished his as well. He set his empty on the counter with a soft thump.

Layla's palms grew damp again. "Would you like another?"

"No, thanks."

Her heartbeat quickened. He'd be going, then. He had no reason to stay any longer. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

He lounged easily against the counter, making no move toward the door, gazing at her with a small smile.

Nerves made her start to blather. "So, uh, I guess that's why you can take off unexpectedly, being the boss's son." She stopped in horror when she realized how that might sound. "I mean, not that you get special treatment—"

He gave an amused huff. "Oh, I get special treatment, all right. My father rides my ass harder than anyone else's. But he'll understand I had to help a lady in distress."

Layla peeled away a strip of label from her bottle. "Thanks again. I'm sorry the night's turned out to be such a bust for you, though."

"A bust? What do you mean?"

Her face flamed while she peeled off another strip, trying not to look at him. "I mean, a disappointment. You thought you'd be getting with Jessi and, well, that's not going to happen. So…you know…"

"The night didn't exactly turn out like I thought," he answered. "But I wouldn't say I'm disappointed."

While she scratched at the label with her thumbnail, he took the bottle from her hand. "Layla."

She bit her lip, reaching for the bottle like a baby might reach for its binkie. Her comfort object.
No, don't take it away.

"Layla." His voice was insistent but gentle.

Jumpy though she was, she had to look at him.

He set her bottle on the counter beside his own and took a step toward her. "Who says this night has to be a bust? You're here…I'm here."

He slipped closer until they were nearly touching. His body radiated heat, inflaming hers. Her lips, her nipples, her fingertips tingled. Her brain was melting.
Oh God, what…what's happening…

"You know what they say." He took half a step and their bodies connected. Her breasts met the hardness of his chest. Another hardness prodded her belly. "When one door closes"—his breath whispered softly on her cheek—"another opens."

His lips met hers, softly but with purpose. He knew what he was doing. She'd been kissed before, sure. Those kisses had been tentative and sweet, given by sweet, caring guys. But never had she been kissed with such confidence by someone who knew what he wanted and was determined to get it. Not pushy, not crude, but seductive.

Total turn-on. Layla went with it, let herself be led by Cam's assurance. When she opened her mouth to his seeking tongue, fever engulfed her whole body.

Though they were breast to chest during their kiss, Cam made no other move to touch her. When he drew back, breaking the kiss, he still had not put his arms around her or tried to hold her in any way. Leaving all the choices up to her.

"So what do you say, little Layla?" He stared down at her, his eyes glittering. In the light of the kitchen, Layla could at last note their color. They were hazel—brown and green with flecks of gold.

She said nothing at all, pausing for one moment at the door he'd opened. She could play it safe, pull away, and always wonder if she'd missed the hottest opportunity of her life. She could walk through the door, take her chances, and maybe make the biggest mistake of her life.

Cam's lips curved up ever so slightly. "Do you always think about things so hard?"

Yes, she did. Always tried to look at the big picture, weigh the options, make the wise choice. But tonight she didn't want to be wise. Screw the big picture. Tonight she wanted hot, sweaty sex from a guy who knew the score. Tonight she wanted to fuck her brains out.

Then, half afraid he'd get away, she grabbed him. Flung her arms around his neck, stood on her toes, and crushed her mouth to his. The kiss was messy, sloppy, hot, and fierce. Layla fisted his shirt, mashed her breasts to his chest, hooked her leg around his calf. She'd have climbed him if she could, wanting everything he had to give.

Cam was the one to back off, with a look of pleased surprise. "Easy. Easy, there. We've got plenty of time." His gaze appraised her. "You're a treat, Layla. They're right, what they say about still waters."

She could hardly make out his words, her heart thundered so loudly in her ears. She gasped for breath as though she'd climbed all the way to the top of a skyscraper. Now she stood looking down at the expanse below, and everything was possible.

Without speaking, Layla took his hand and led him to her bedroom.

Once they crossed the threshold, she pulled off her top and was about to wriggle out of her skirt when Cam stopped her. "Slow down, baby." His large hand felt hot and hard against the bare flesh of her waist. His gaze ate her up, caressed the cleavage displayed by her lacy pink bra. "There's no rush."

He pulled her close, once again taking the lead, insinuating his tongue between her lips, stroking it against her own. Her nipples hardened, poking insistently against the lace of her bra. They itched and ached, and Layla wished they could be rubbing against Cam's chest instead.

She tugged at his long-sleeved shirt. "Take this off, please." She wanted to see his chest, wanted to know if he was hairy or smooth, wanted to feel the warmth of his skin, the definition of muscle and sinew. Hell, she wanted it all.

"Whatever the lady wants," he responded, as though he could read her mind. He undid the buttons slowly—first the cuffs, then down the front. One by one. He smiled, knowing he was teasing her.

His chest, when revealed, was dusted with dark brown hair. He tossed his shirt on the chair beside her desk, which held her laptop and a tumble of books.

Layla trailed her fingers down his pecs, luxuriating in the warmth and suppleness of his skin, the softness of his chest hair. She'd have been happy to spend the next few hours simply touching him.

Cam had other ideas. Drawing her close, he lowered his head for another possessive kiss. Layla responded, lost in the sensation of his lips on hers.

Slowly, he eased her to the quilt atop her narrow single bed and followed her down. As her head rested on the pillow, Layla sighed, then gasped as Cam's hot mouth trailed along her neck and down her chest. He nuzzled his face in her cleavage and gave a playful little growl. "More than a mouthful for sure."

She couldn't help laughing. He growled again, and Layla groaned when Cam licked the crevice between her breasts.

Her breasts were so full, they ached. She wriggled impatiently, wanting him to touch them, kiss them, bite them. Anything. Instead of stripping off her bra, though, he scooped one breast from its lacy pink cup and sucked the hard, dark rose nipple into his mouth.

Layla's neck arched and she moaned, feeling the suction right through to her core, an electric wire of need connecting her nipple to her sex. Her inner muscles pulsed as she grew slick with want.

He freed the other breast to work his magic there, too. Rocking side to side on the pillow, she clutched his head, her fingers tangling in his dark chocolate waves.

Her breast popped free of his mouth. "Ouch," he muttered as he tried to pull back. "Think I'm stuck."

Layla winced. Her ring, the one that once belonged to Grandma Messner, had gotten caught in his hair. "Sorry." She tugged, but that only made him hiss in pain. God, she didn't want to snatch him bald. "Um, let me take it off."

She eased the ring off her finger. Crap, it was almost like Grandma was sending a disapproving message from heaven, cockblocking her from the great beyond:
Shame on you, Layla. This boy is not your husband.

Grandma, I love you, but please get out of my head!

A moment later Cam freed himself and set the ring on the nightstand. "Okay if I leave it here? To avoid future accidents."

"Sure."

He grinned and sat back on his knees, gazing at her with hungry eyes. "Yeah. Look at you."

She flushed as she realized how she must look, on display for him. Her hair a tangle on the pillow. Her skirt worked up around her hips from their sexy tussling. Her breasts exposed, their peaks hard and pointy, still damp from his mouth.

Picturing herself in his eyes made her hotter than she'd ever been. She'd never been so naughty before, and just realizing that turned her on.

She wanted him. Right now.

She began to lower the side zipper on her skirt.

His eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. "What are you doing?"

His question made her pause. "I thought we—"

"Why you trying to rush things along?" He tweaked her nipple, and her core rippled in response. He tweaked the other one a bit harder. "Huh?"

Her breath caught. Her hips rocked into the mattress. "I'm not."

"Yeah. You are." Another tweak. "But we've got lots of time. Didn't I tell you that?" His hand turned gentler as he stroked and fondled her bare flesh. He claimed her mouth in a kiss. "All the time we need…"

His touch drifted lower, and Layla went still as his fingers glided up her thigh. He tickled the tender inner surface, then skimmed the pads of his fingers along the lace edging of her panties. "Pretty. They match your bra."

Layla swallowed hard. "Yes." She'd changed into the matching set before going out tonight. The undies made her feel pretty, sexy. But she'd worn them for herself, never imagining anyone else might see them.

"Nice." He drawled the word,
niiiiccce.
She flushed, perspiration misting her face as
his gaze zeroed in on the panel of her panties. His big hand arranged her thighs farther apart so he could get a better view. She let him handle her as though she were a doll. She'd never been this open before. With other guys, she'd hide beneath the sheet, insecure about her body. Afraid of turning them off, she'd hurry them through sex, only allow them a glimpse of herself.

She had none of that fear with Cam. She wasn't worried that her thighs were too big or her stomach wasn't concave. The naughty heat in his eyes made her feel like Venus rising from the foam and told her how much he wanted to fuck her dirty, until they were both limp with exhaustion.

And tonight Layla wouldn't have it any other way.

"I like this," Cam murmured, his eyelids drooping to half-mast. "I can see your pussy lips through the cloth. The crotch frames them real snug."

Layla's breath caught in her throat. She'd never been spoken to so blatantly, so erotically, before. She hissed when he brushed his middle finger up the center of the panel. When he touched her clit, a thrill raced through her. She sparked like a flint striking steel.

He slid his thumb over the panel of pink lace, skimming one side of her labia, then the other. She squirmed, lifting her hips, wanting him to touch her clit again. "I bet they're wet, too. Huh? Are they, little Layla?"

"Yes." She twisted on the bedclothes, the backs of her heels rubbing on the quilt.

"Mmm. Yeah." He dragged his knuckle over her, bumping her clit, tumbling that spark through her again. "I can feel it. And your clit is so swollen. I can feel that, too. Does it ache, little Layla?"

He knew it did. Suddenly a wave of anger flashed through her. "Stop it."

His face went blank. "You want to stop?"

"Stop teasing me. Stop calling me little."

"My bad." He gave her that playful half grin. "You're not little, are you? You're a big girl who knows what she wants."

"Damn straight." Layla grabbed him by the hair and yanked him down for a dirty, messy kiss, their mouths and teeth clashing.

When she let go, he pulled back, licking his lips. "So what do you want, Layla?"

"You know what I want."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

Her lips peeled back from her teeth. "I want to come."

"Yeah. That's a girl. Tell it. I want you to come, too. I want to watch it happen."

And that's what he did while he rubbed and stroked and played with her. Though occasionally his gaze dropped to where his fingers teased between her thighs, mostly he focused on her face. Layla bit her lip, pressed her head back against the pillow, and curled her pelvis to meet his touch.

The pressure grew, and with it the need to climax. She climbed higher and higher, like a car on a roller coaster inching toward a high point before its dizzying descent over the peak.

The tingling began in her fingers and toes. She could feel the orgasm shimmering inside her, almost within reach. She squeezed her eyelids shut. "Oh. I'm going to—"

"Look at me."

Layla's eyes popped open, as much due to his commanding tone of voice as the words themselves. When she stared at him, the gold flecks in Cam's eyes seemed to ignite. Their eyes locked and his thumb worked her clit more insistently. "That's right. Watch me. Watch me while you come."

That was all she needed to topple over the edge. The orgasm washed through her in huge waves, nearly drowning her. It went on and on with Cam's assistance. He knew a woman's body, knew when to press on and when to lighten up. And all the while, she stared into his eyes, lost in the intensity of his gaze.