Perv (Filth #1) (7 page)

Option two is the most likely to happen.

Her hands press against my thighs and I jolt up into a sitting position. She kneels between my legs and smiles that smile. I grab her hands before she can undo my jeans and squeeze tight enough it should make her wince.

Instead she raises her brows at me. “Don't I get ten minutes too?”

I'm not stupid or desperate enough to let this woman put her lips around my dick. Not that I think she'll bite my cock off. I take her chin into my free hand. She remains still, her gaze fathomless.

Maybe
she won't bite off my dick. I can't tell with her. I should be able to read her like a book, but when she shuts down like this there are only flashes of her emotional makeup.

Stealth is an apt name for her. If I let her put her mouth on my cock, I'll be ready to marry her.

“
No,” I tell her.

“
Spoilsport.” She remains on her knees, but fights against my hold. If I keep it up, I'll leave marks on her hands. I'm not that kind of man—to hurt a woman when it's not sex—so I release her.

The hard question is do I let her get me off? I'm too aroused to ignore the erection without consequences, and...I want her hands on me in any way I can get them. My decision making skills would be better if I couldn't still taste her.

“
You can use anything but your mouth.”

Tongue. Lip. She laughs. “Like you would stop me if I did.”

We both know she's right, and I'll be sure to set her straight after she's done molesting my dick through my jeans. She rubs her palm up and down the length. The way her cheeks flush lets me know the length, the girth, creates fantasies. I'd check how much more slippery playing with my cock has made her, but my breathing isn't steady as she squeezes me through the denim.

The ground I've gained during my ten minutes shrinks as my dick swells to painful levels. “You can use your mouth if you tell me more about this virgin I broke.” The barter would have held more weight if my voice wasn't a deep rasp.

“
With you, I won't need to use my mouth.”

I'm curious enough to let her prove her point but not stupid. Fear grasps hold of my insides at how easily she makes my IQ drop. I clasp her hands again.

“
Don't play with me.” I stop and think. “Is this revenge sex?”

“
Do you want it to be?”

“
No.”

She
doesn't confirm or deny it. I drop her hands, and she's back to rubbing her palm up and down my shaft. I'm torn between how far she’s willing to go to get back at me and disgust with myself for even entertaining the thought. Being used isn't my thing, and I've learned the hard way, you can't fuck hurt away.

Her palm caresses turn into long strokes along the material. “Stop” isn't a part of my vocabulary any more. She moans, reaching up to undo my pants button, the zipper. Her lids lower as she peels my jeans and underwear back.

Through the haze of need, I know using me for kicks is not her kink either. She's...Stealth is like me. Being in control gets her off. Knowing she can turn me, a legit and unrepentant womanizer, into putty without using her mouth makes her pussy wet.

I don't want to be intrigued or turned on, but her hand is clutched tight at the base of my cock and there's a gleam in her eye. Soft, warm hands. Tight on me.

I'm too tense to let my head fall back from the pleasure. I'm forced to see how this plays out instead of experiencing the sensations pulsing through me.

Stealth leans forward, hovering above the tip. I hold my breath, my stomach muscles taut. She's close enough I can feel her breath feather across the head. She makes a fist, presses her mouth to the circle she's made with her hand then uses what god gave her for lubrication. It's just a warm, wet tight glide as she slides her hand back down.

I huff.

Yes. Huff and try not to climb out of my shoes.

I should have let her use her mouth. That way if I scream like a bitch it makes more sense. I open my mouth to tell her to stop. Fuck this. She got her revenge. She can go back to the Broken Virgin and tell the story of how she bested me—twice.

But she's pumping her hand up and down, slowly, firmly. I'm enthralled as she licks the palm of her other hand and jerks me off with two fists. She knows the thumb over the slit trick. Make it wet. Make it tantalizing.

I'm not a two-pump chump but she's about to turn me into one. I moan. God. I try my best to hold onto what's left of my sanity.

Tongue. Lip. Bite. She's as pretty as I knew she would be if she bit her lip. The flush riding up her face makes the image better.

She's turned on. She has to want me in her mouth. Deep in her throat as I flex my cock in and out. Wet. So fucking wet. The thoughts do me in and, like the dick I am, I don't warn her. Doesn't matter. She's bending over me at the right time, closing her lips around the tip and sucking me clean with loud slurping noises.

Our wedding is going to be beautiful.

My hands shake, but I continue to run my palms up and down his denim jeans. His thighs are thick and firm. It's not a hardship to help him come down from his orgasm.

I continue to kiss up and down his shaft. The taut skin twitches every few seconds. There's a musk to Nate that twists my stomach in very good ways. I want more. Thoughts and conflicts have shifted to the back of my mind.

I want to bask in this moment where hot, wicked pleasure warms me. I've rendered this man moot as he presses his palms to his eyes and breathes—as though that simple act is all he can do. It is well worth the carpet digging into my knees. My heart tries to jump out of my chest. What I did—no, what he did...I can't wrap my head around. Easily, he owned me with his mouth. My pussy continues to quiver from aftershocks.

Eventually his cock goes back to its natural state. I fix his boxers then his pants into place. The quiet between us digs into my bones. He told me to use anything but my mouth and I did anyway. I didn't want a mess and...I'd wanted him to flavor my tongue. I may not have a fetish but there's a mile-long list of things that get me off.

The silence thickens, solidifies into an immovable object. I force my gaze to his face. The scar seems harsher in this light, with his jaw clenched. This isn't a man who whispers sweet nothings. This man simmers with anger.

“
Nate?” I hate the touch of vulnerability in my voice.

He's scum. He fucks and leaves women without thought or care to how he'll leave them in shambles. He hurt my friend.

I should have never let him touch me.

There's the Girl Code and there's...the way his taste sours in my mouth, because I know how fucked up it is to be here with him.

But we shared something that I can't—I don't have a word for what we did and shared. I—I need it again. Maybe the next time I can puzzle over the pieces and create a clear picture of what the fuck is going on between us.

His chest inflates, and the sigh he pushes out sounds rough. He sits up, his eyes hard on me. I hold my breath. He brushes his fingertips along my jawline, my ear, but when he slides his hand into my hair, he takes a fistful and tugs my head back.

“
I said no mouth.”

The last thing I should be is turned on, and it should be a physical impossibility for me to get any wetter. A moan still escapes my mouth.

I hate him. I hate how much I need his tongue. My skin burns from the way Loraine strayed from my mind the moment he used it on me. Even now the warmth of his hand in my hair begs for my full attention.

I give in.

“
Just wait until I really use my mouth on you.” I can hear the words but can't believe they are coming out of me. Egging him on is how we ended up in this hotel room in the first place. I should shut up. Now. “What would be left of you?”

He leans down, close enough to kiss. My scalp screams at how tight, how angrily he's holding me. “I guess I'll never know. You gave me ten minutes, and that's all I needed. How does your pussy feel?”

If my pussy got a vote, we'd never leave his side. He's close enough I can see the hard glint of gray in his irises. He owns me, and we both know it.

“
How does your dick feel, Nathan?” I press my tongue to my upper lip.

He jerks my head back. Goddamn his jeans. I can't sink my nails into him like I want to—like he deserves.

The silence that sinks in this time has teeth. I break first and pull back. His skin is too warm, his scent too masculine—his mouth tempting. The affirmations I chant in my head are all about now I know what he can do. Now I'm done. Now I can walk away and find a nice beta male.

But I can't call him scum and mean it. There's a shattered window in my glass house. He's hurt Loraine, but I let him touch me. I screamed for it and didn't tell him to stop until I couldn't take anymore. The wound I've inflicted will always cut deeper. Doesn't matter that years have passed. Doesn't matter that she damned him.

Loraine.

My breath sticks in my lungs and I close my eyes. I feel him, more than I see him move away from me. I sit there a while and try to follow Samantha's rule.

It's me and Nate.

Nate and I.

No one else.

I push from the floor and sink onto the bed. Nate drops the keycard on the table. His forearms flex. The tanned skin is beautiful, no matter the light or movement. His profile is just hard as stone. He glances at me.

My skin burns again in that moment—not from hate or disgust. His expression softens.

I own him, too.

A corner of his mouth lifts then he's looking away. He picks up my tea as though it's his now.

I laugh. “Nate, do you just want to taste my mouth? All you have to do is ask.”

His back is to me but he turns enough so I can see him take a long drag from my cup.

That's not good enough for Nate though. He doesn't throw a goodbye/good riddance over his shoulder as he leaves. With my tea.

He got the last word, and I do my best to fight the need to go after him. We're done. We should have never happened. I've sated the mystery of him, and my sexual thirst—I hadn’t fed it in a year. A year.

But he, in every way that matters, got the last word.

Duke and Tarek loom over me. My back rests on a blue mat in Tarek's gym. I'm ready to get the last of my fifty sit ups in. I can call it quits after this, but they loom, and worry is reflected in both of their gazes. An intervention peaks on the horizon.

I came to the gym after being a ghost for a week. I'm not sure what more they want from me. Duke has left work for this though. His suit probably cost more than the gym's light bill, and he has a closet full of the same I-can-get-you-probation-for-a-murder-charge tailored look. His shoe-black hair is slicked back. He's squinting at me, likely trying to decide just how fucked I am.

Well...when a woman Hoovers up your come before it can spill out and your first thought is marriage, yeah, that can fuck you up. And I fucking knew she could. The only thing that kept me from being a Mr. and Mrs. is that once I could see again and church bells had stopped ringing in my ears, I fixed my pants, took her tea and left the hotel room.

She chuckled the entire time and tried to reel me back into her revenge plot. I wasn't falling for it anymore. Hence, my week of contemplation.

Five seconds have passed, and neither friend offers up any words. “I'm starting to think you guys are about to give me a facial. Say something, or call me pretty first.”

Duke's squints harder. “Are you over her?”

“
Yup.” I pull my knees up and start to do crunches, tapping my elbow on the opposite knee.

Tarek takes a turn. “What changed?”

“
I had too much free time on my hands. I've decided to build computers. The website is in the works. That's what I've been doing for a week.”

And I've also been jacking off about twice a day. The time Stealth and I spent in the hotel plays on a loop. I swallow, and there's her taste again. Over and over. My dick refuses to get the message it's just
over
.

Duke says, “Fuck someone else?”

Nope, but I tried. Fuck me, I tried. “Talked a woman out of her underwear so I could sniff them.”

She smelled wrong, and I couldn't bring myself to be the pervert that I am.

Tarek snorts. “You know that's weird, right?”

I shrug. “You just wish you could talk a woman out of her underwear.”

“
The right woman.”

“
My condolences.” I grin at him and pause to hold the position for a five count. I relax on the mat to rest before my next set.

Duke bends down. “Tell me now if you're done.”

I know that tone. It's I'm-bracing-you-for-some-news-you-won't-like voice. I sit up and glare at him. “You did fuck her?” Violence whips through me, hot and hard. The foreign emotion forces my hands into fists before I can take a rational step back.

Tarek scoffs and waves to me. “There's your answer.”

Duke has fucked her, and that means he knows everything I don't. Everything I've told myself to not crave. “What's her name?” I'm not trying to sound irrational or jealous, but the words have bypassed my brain.

“
Robyn Hayes.”

“
Spell it.”

He does. I let that roll around in my head. Yeah. She looks like a Robyn, acts like one. I could—I shake my head. I promised myself I wouldn't fall for her shit any more. She can revenge fuck someone else. I have her name now and can let her go.

I glance at Duke. His face is back to a mask of worry. There's just a roar in my head because he knew her name. “You never said if you fucked her or not.”

“
I asked around when you disappeared like a hermit after seeing her. She's a paralegal. Worked for a competing firm. I never fucked her. Never met her. I'll send you everything I have if you want it. Not much. And honestly, you should let her come to you.”