Sucker Punched (18 page)

Well, any girl besides Macy.

She seems to affect me in a way no one else does, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the way she gets all shy around me. It’s cute. She’s definitely the most inexperienced girl I’ve been with, but I kinda like how innocent she is. 

I like being the first one to get her really dirty.

My hand grips my cock as I watch myself disappear inside her. Remembering how tight she was, how wet, has my balls drawing up. My heart beats faster as I pump my hand. When she turns around and bends over, showing me that tight ass and bald, glistening pussy, I lose it.

I feel my orgasm ripping through me as I watch my cock sink inside her little pink hole, stretching her wide. Her onscreen gasp coincides with my real-life groan as I shoot thick ropes of cum across my stomach and chest. Some flies past me, and I turn, half-retarded, to see a big glob of it on her headboard.

Oh, shit.

Dazed, I laugh.

Turning her iPad off, I slip it back under her pillow. I’m mildly disappointed I didn’t make it to the end of the video, but I can’t complain. I’ve never come that hard from jacking off in my life.

I tug off my cum-stained shirt and take a quick swipe at her headboard. The only thing that’s out of place now is my still-hard dick.

Bastard doesn’t want to go soft.

I debate going another round when an even better idea occurs to me. I lie back and pull my phone out of my pocket to text Declan.

You going to the afterparty tonight?

He responds almost immediately.

Declan: Yeah, why? You want to go?

Me: I guess. Got nothin’ else going on tonight.

Declan: You gonna meet us there? Or do you want us to pick you up?

If he drives me, I could get a ride home with Macy after her shift’s over. . .

Pick me up. Your baby mama’s a designated driver by default. I’m not passing that shit up.

Declan: We’ll be there in 30

I turn the screen off and grab my wadded-up shirt, then get up and head for the door. I need to wash this shame off me.

But not before I turn back and grab that purple thong.

Thirty minutes later, headlights flash in my bedroom window. I turn off the lights and jog down the stairs, then turn the corner and run right into Savannah.

“Sorry!” She dodges past me, running down the hallway like a bat out of hell. “I gotta pee.”

I glance at the open front door, hearing the idle of Declan’s engine. Leaning over, I see him parked in my driveway. The passenger side door is also wide open.

Guess she wasn’t kidding.

A minute later the toilet flushes and Savannah walks out at a normal pace. “This kid’s the size of a lima bean, and already it’s wreaking havoc on my bladder.” 

She glances at the living room as she walks by me, then stops to take a second look. “What the. . .?” Her face lights up as she points to the festively decorated t-rex lighting up my living room.

“That’s Rex,” I say. “I figured Macy would appreciate a Christmas tree, but I couldn’t get one in time, so. . .” I shrug.

Savannah frowns. “When was Macy here?”

Now I’m the one frowning. “She’s here every day.”

“Oh my god, are you guys
dating
?”

“What? No,” I say quickly. And why does she look so horrified at the idea? “We’re just roommates.”

Why didn’t Macy tell her best friend that she moved in with me? And again, why does Savannah look so horrified? I’m starting to get offended.

Her horror quickly turns to anger as she up and smacks me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You guys can’t live together! You’re going to fuck it all up.”

I know that. I might be trying to ignore it, but deep down I know. And having someone else point it out is only pissing me off. “Nothing’s happened, and nothing’s
going
to happen. We’re just friends.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, right. Whitmore boys don’t know the meaning of ‘just friends.’ Mark my words, Blake, this will
not
end well.”

Duly noted. But if she tells me “I told you so” when this all blows up in my face, I might just have to kill her.

“I need more champagne.” I set the silver tray on the kitchen island and hop up onto the counter. As soon as the feeling floods back into my soles, I groan in relief.

High heels are the devil. I’m not even two hours into my shift and my feet are already killing me. If it weren’t for the five hundred bucks I get to take home at the end of every shift, I’d have quit a long time ago.

“
Already?”
Adrienne frowns. “Damn. Those must be some thirsty motherfuckers.”

She begins lining up new glasses on my tray while I pull out the drawer below the toaster. It’s where all the waitresses keep their phones and keys hidden while they work. I dig through the pile of smartphones until I spot my pink, cat-eared case and pull it out.

A small part of me is hoping for a text from Blake. I. . .kinda miss him. 

This past week has been awesome. Every night’s been like a sleepover. We hang out, watch Netflix, and goof off.

I press the home button and smile when I see that I have a text. Until I see who it’s from and what it says.

Savannah: YOU’RE LIVING WITH BLAKE?! What the actual fuck???

Aw, shit-biscuits.

My stomach drops so low it feels like it’s trying to slide out of my ass.

Oh my god, is she some kind of omniscient being?
How
does she know?

Panic makes my heart race as I swipe right and try to think of a response. The only thing that’s coming to mind is
deny, deny, deny
because there’s no logical explanation for it. I knew the moment Blake suggested it that it was a bad idea, and yet I did it anyway. 

Why? Who the fuck knows. Maybe I’m crazy or maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.

Or maybe I was desperate enough to get out of my parents’ house that I lied to myself and said it would all work out okay.

I hop down from the counter, wincing at the pain and pressure it puts back on my feet, and tell Adrienne I’m going to the bathroom. Once I’m out of the kitchen and in the hallway, I pull up Blake’s number on my phone. 

That lint-licker must’ve ratted me out.

“Duchess!”

I look up in time to see Blake jogging down the hall toward me. I’m momentarily surprised to see him, until I remember that I’m mad at him.

“What the shit, Blake? You told her?”

Slowing, he scowls. “You
didn’t
?”

“Of course not!” Exasperation seeps into my tone as I bite the inside of my cheek. “I didn’t want to hear her say how dumb it was, okay? I know it’s kind of a weird situation and it wouldn’t work for everybody, but. . .I don’t know, I
like
living with you and I wasn’t ready to have someone come in and burst my bubble by telling me what an awful idea it is.”

Blake chuckles. “Fuck Savannah. I know she’s your girl and all, but fuck her. Don’t let her get in your head and tell you this won’t work. That’s up to us to make it happen, and it
will
happen.” He chucks me under the chin. “I know it’s messy right now ’cause we’re still attracted to each other, but we’ll learn to deal with it. And who knows, maybe we’ll even fuck a couple more times to get it out of our systems.”

He grins when I roll my eyes.

“Seriously, don’t worry about what anyone else says. The only thing that matters is if you’re happy living with me.”

My lips curl of their own volition. “I am.”

“Good, ’cause I wanted to talk to you about a new house rule I’m making. It’s called Blowjob Mondays.” He laughs when I slap him on the chest. “What if I told you it’s for a good cause?”

“Be
cause
you’d enjoy it isn’t a good enough reason.” I shake my head as his smile grows damn near obscene. No one should look that gorgeous. “I’d better get back to work, Mr. Philanthropy.”

As I head back toward the kitchen, Blake calls after me. “Are you saying that if I came up with a better reason, you’d do it?”

No, I’m not saying that. Just like I’m not saying that Blowjob Mondays actually sound hella fun.

Having Blake here at work is turning out to be a huge distraction. Who would’ve thunk, right?

I feel his eyes following me around the room and he’s made it quite clear that he’d be willing to make another “tape” with me when I go on break. How kind of him.

With my empty tray in hand, I start heading for the kitchen. Adrienne wasn’t kidding—there are some thirsty motherfuckers here tonight. I’ve already gone through ten trays of champagne. I weave through the crowd in the lounge area until it starts to thin.

I’m almost to the hallway that leads to the kitchen when a man in his late thirties steps in front of me. His smile immediately puts me on edge, despite his good looks and expensive suit. There’s a certain sleaziness radiating from him that doesn’t sit right.

I smile tightly and try to step around him when he blocks my path again.

“You look familiar,” he says. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Not this again.
 

You’d think rich guys would be able to pay someone to come up with better pickup lines than that. “I don’t know.” I’m trying my best to sound upbeat, but it’s not easy. Especially when all I want to do is use my tray as a shield and slip past him. Maybe seeing his pretty reflection will distract him. “Do you come to a lot of these parties? I’m here every weekend.”

He snaps his fingers as realization crosses his face. “You’re the girl who got fucked in the bathroom.”

My face burns as I glance around us. The music’s loud, but this asshole is louder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Even his laugh is condescending. “Aw, don’t be shy now, baby. You certainly weren’t shy when you were screaming out your orgasm.” Smiling, he reaches out and runs a finger down my arm.

I jerk away from him before I do something stupid that will get me fired. Like taking this tray and beating him to death with it.

He doesn’t seem to notice my revulsion, or maybe he just doesn’t care. “What’ll it take to get fifteen minutes in that bathroom with you?” He pulls out a wad of cash from his pocket, then undoes his money clip and thumbs through the bills. “Four hundred?”

Shocked, I stand there as he doles out four crisp Benjamins. He sticks it between his fingers and holds it out to me, then thinks better of it and quickly pulls it back.

“For four hundred I expect to come down your throat. If you don’t swallow, you only get three. Understood?”

What a pig fucker.

I’ve never been so offended in my life, and that’s saying something since I knew the Antichrist herself, Jamie Beckett. The balls on this guy! 

“I’m not a prostitute!” I hiss quietly.

He shrugs, unaffected. “You sure sounded like a whore to me.”