Bad Boy Page 6

  "And you thought that sending a holier-than-thou pastor to my shop with his love-thy-neighbor bullshit was the best course of action?"

  "I thought that calling the police was the best course of action," she deadpans. "Luckily for you, Pastor Becker convinced me otherwise." She juts out her chin.

  I huff. "You could have asked me to turn it down, no?"

  "Not when you blast your music deliberately! To get a rise out of me!"

  "I blast my music to get you to play nice."

  Her brow darts up. "How does that work?"

  "I don't know.” I grin slyly and draw my fingernail through a groove in the wooden countertop. “Maybe you'd start dancing and stop being so damn uptight."

  "Sounds like provocation to me." She gives me a pointed stare. Those eyes. Those fucking eyes. My cock is aching.

  I inch closer, making note of the way her body tenses up as I close the gap. Her chest heaves with each breath and her tongue rolls across her lips. “You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?” I snare. “Huh, your senator daddy probably made sure you had everything you needed growing up?”

  I can’t help the bubble of resentment that rises into my chest. My daddy didn't do shit for me when I was growing up. To this day, he's never even acknowledged my existence. That's gonna change. But now, I’m just veering off topic.

  “How do you know my father’s a senator? You asked about me?” She tries to keep a neutral expression but I see the glint of pleasure in her eyes at the idea that I did a little snooping on her. The fact of the matter is I can't stop thinking about her and the idea of punishing her for pissing me off makes my skin buzz.

  “You know what your problem is? You’re obviously hard up. The source of your frustration is sexual.”

  She balls up her fists and shakes them in the air. “The source of my frustration is you.” Now, she's pacing floor.

  "You associate me with sex? I’m flattered. Can’t stop thinking about me, huh Sunflower?”

  This attraction is mutual. She wants me as much as I want her. But I'm the complete opposite of every item on her Ideal Man wishlist and it's causing her to act out.

  "Why are you here bothering me? Don't you have any hobbies?" She glares at me and growls. Jesus—is this foreplay?

  I grin and lean on the counter. "Yes I do." I lick my lips. "Would you like me to demonstrate?" I touch her silky hair. I bet it smells amazing. "You want me and it's driving you crazy."

  I'm flirting with her! Flirting with her! What is wrong with me?

  This woman is the enemy. I won’t let her win. Y’see—I know this game all too well. Angering me turns her on. It makes her frigid little body heat up. Whether she knows it or not, that's the reason she keeps throwing punches and taking jabs at me.

  She rounds the counter, putting the barrier between us like a shield. “You’re a…a…a jackass.”

  That's when I realize that I've never heard her swear. I'm sure she thinks it's unladylike. She definitely doesn’t seem comfortable saying the word. But I see the way her eyes go half-lidded. I see the increased rise and fall of her chest. She wants me so bad.

  "Your lips say ‘jackass’. But curiously, your body language says ‘stallion’.” I lean over the counter and drop my voice to a low growl. "You're imagining my cock right now, aren't you?"

  “You’re lewd! And crass! Ill-mannered!” she spits out.

  The sharpness of her words and the superiority in her eyes hit me hard. Looking at her in her polka dot dress, it’s clear. I'm the kind of guy her daddy warned her about. She’ll never let herself give in to a man like me. I’m so annoyed with myself for wanting her the way I do.

  What the hell am I trying to accomplish with this conversation? She already has her set ideas about me. There’s no changing her mind. And besides, I’ve never been one to care about other people’s opinions. I need to get away from this woman.

  "You're a real fucking bitch, you know that?" I don’t wait for her answer. I turn on my scuffed heel to leave.

  Vivian's frustrated roar rips through the air. I'm halfway to the door when I feel a series of small, squishy somethings hit the center of my back.

  What the fuck?!

  When I turn back toward her, she's standing there with wide eyes and a loose jaw, a handful of raspberries in her clenched fist.

  Chapter 8

  Vivian

  I’m screaming on the inside as he strolls toward the door with a cocky, vexating stride. I hate that guy!

  I was just minding my business. Having a nice, ordinary morning. Making the wildberry coulis for the mini cheesecakes. And then he showed up out of nowhere. He marched right in here to annoy me. Oh and he's so good at that.

  He’s the most pompous, arrogant, brash jerk I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting. How dare he come into my place of business at the crack of dawn and offend me?

  His dark eyes danced with laughter as he whispered words that provoked my traitorous body to roar with lust. Words that rang a little too close to the truth.

  I lost my cool.

  I grabbed the raspberries.

  Before my good sense had the chance to catch up, the little overripe berries were soaring through the air.

  By the time they’re exploding against the back of his white t-shirt, I'm already regretting my decision.

  He freezes, the muscles in his back going tense as sticky, red ink absolutely ruins the fabric.

  Oh crap oh crap oh crap!

  I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be tucked in my bed, warm and cozy and asleep. This is Reese's shift but she asked me to cover for her when she woke up sick again this morning. Now here I am. About to be murdered.

  Clinton turns around at a slow pace, body vibrating. His chest rises and falls violently. The look in his eyes is dark. Like a wildcat ready to pounce.

  Maybe I can fix this. I quickly flip through the list of fail-proof natural stain removers catalogued in my brain.

  Baking soda?

  Lime juice?

  Vinegar, maybe?

  Oh crap!

  I round the counter with my hands out in front of me. I have the perfectly-crafted apology all sorted out in my head but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. I'm obviously in a state of shock. I still can't believe I just did that.

  My brain launches into panic mode. Shit! Apology! Spit it out, right now...Or kick him in the testicles and run! But the fire in his eyes has me paralyzed. I can’t speak. I can’t run. I can’t breathe.

  I can only wait the interminable moment until he’s charging across the floor, lifting me up, pinning my back to the wall and those full lips are crushing mine.

  Huh?

  I think he's kissing me. Rough and demanding, sucking on my lips before stabbing his tongue into my mouth.

  Why is he kissing me?

  And why are my hands circling around his waist, hooking into the belt loops of his worn denim jeans?

  Why are his fingers in my hair, pulling on my roots and sending unfamiliar sensations down my spine?

  Hatred and lust commingle in my blood, causing a dizzying gust of confusion to wash over me. I've never been the kind of girl who enjoys rough stuff. I like a man who knows how to respect a woman and her body, in and out of the bedroom. But right now, I have the urge to get rather dishonorable with this particular man.

  Now, his hands are under my butt, feeling me up, groping me shamelessly. His mouth travels down my neck. His tongue sweeps across my flesh. He peels off my cardigan and bites my breast through the fabric of my dress. The sensation spreads throughout my body.

  I feel a gush of wetness soak my panties when he reaches behind my back and unties the string of my halter dress before pushing down the cups of my strapless bra. My breasts are on display for him and he dives in, licking and squeezing them boorishly. Meanwhile, I lose my fingers in his hair, throw my head back against the wall and reciprocate each hard thrust of his denim-clad erection against my core. Wait—don’t I hate this guy?


  He slides his hands up my dress and under the lace of my panties. He squeezes my butt. My insides clench and I bracket his narrow hips with my thighs. When he tears his mouth away from mine, I'm panting.

  "You're fucking annoying," he growls. "Do you realize you're driving me crazy?” His fingernails dig into my meaty flesh, spreading my butt cheeks apart and causing my core to throb. “You're so pretty it almost pisses me off.”

  There's a ferocious look in his eyes and if I weren’t so inexplicably turned on right now, I'd probably have the good sense to be scared. Instead, I'm tangling my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Kiss me again."

  His mouth covers mine, wet and greedy. Frustration, lust, annoyance, pleasure. It all mixes together in the space where our lips meet. "I'm gonna do much more than just kiss you, Sunflower. Are you okay with that?"

  Arousal sweeps through me like a monsoon. I close my eyes and let go of all control. "Do it."

  His fingers ride over my clit and brush through the crack of my butt. His hands are drenched in my desire and he hisses through his teeth. I shudder against his touch. He spins me off of the wall and practically throws me onto the counter between the cash register and the cakepop display case. There’s a wicked sparkle in his eyes as he unzips his pants and sets his long, thick erection free.

  “I’m so hard it hurts,” he murmurs under his breath as he strokes the shaft roughly. I purr. I can’t stop myself from reaching out and running my fingers over the smooth, wet tip.

  Even in the dim room, I can see how beautiful it is. A beautiful penis. Who knew? I'm dying to see the rest of his body. “Take off your shirt…” I whisper hoarsely as I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him.

  He does it with the cockiest smile I’ve ever seen. He tosses the shirt aside then yanks my panties down my legs and grips my thighs to spread them open. My dress is bunched up at my waist. Ironing it was a pain last night but right now, I don't care. I just want his sex. Now.

  Without thinking, I reach for his erection and stab it into my throbbing tunnel.

  All the air in the room evaporates.

  We’re both frozen at the thrill of the penetration. Raw. Skin-on-skin. Connection.

  With a long groan, he buries his face in the curve of my neck. He grabs my waist and yanks my pelvis forward. His eyes are shut. He moves blindly. He pumps his shaft into me, hard and fast. Again and again.

  "It's so good," I hear myself saying. "It feel so good."

  He pants against my skin. "You like that? Huh? You like the way my cock stretches that tight little pussy?"

  Oh my god. I've never been talked to like that. A part of my wants to slap him across the face. The other part of me wants to explode in the most violent orgasm of my life. I'm erratic in my quest to climax.

  I grab his face in both hands and kiss him savagely, attacking him with greedy little bites and licks and thrusts of my tongue. As he spears me with his thick, pulsing cock, the sharp edge of the counter etches a deep horizontal groove into the fleshy globes of my butt. And I can't figure out why I'm pulling him closer, locking my thighs tighter around his hips, grunting like a zoo animal while sweat trickles down my temple. My carefully arranged and pinned chignon falls apart one damp tendril at a time.

  The electrical current coursing through my body is too much. The charged sensation of our tongues dancing roughly combined with the explosive friction of his shaft tunneling through my wet heat, I feel the danger of it in my bones. We're building toward something nuclear and I don't know if I'll survive the fallout. All I know is that right here, right now, I can't hold back. I can't control the erratic pumping of my hips. I can't quiet the screams sputtering out of my throat. I can't resist the orgasm that's ripping my walls downs. All I can do is abandon myself to the pleasure and the man who's providing it selflessly.

  My orgasm seems to draw on for an eternity but it's still not long enough. And then, Clinton yanks his shaft out of me with a hasty tug. I feel it pulsing against my thigh as he empties himself on the door of the cabinet beneath the cash register.

  His knees go weak and he braces the edge of the counter, his sweaty forehead dropped against my shoulder. He breathes hotly on my skin as he regains his wits.

  Meanwhile, my mind is short-circuiting. What the hell was that? A guilty, little voice at the back of my mind chides me. I know exactly what that was. That was unquestionably a hate-f*ck. And I don’t want to admit it to myself but it was the hottest sex I’ve ever had.

  Chapter 9

  Clinton

  "Can I have some ketchup?" Rachel kneels on her chair and plants both knobby elbows on the creaky table on either side of her bowl.

  "Please," Lisa reminds the child without lifting her eyes from the screen of her phone.

  "Please," Rachel mimics. "Can I have some ketchup, please?"

  Grinning, I pass the bottle of tomato goodness across the table to the little girl. "Who puts ketchup in their mac and cheese?" I shake my head as she squirts the contents of the bottle into her bowl.

  “I put ketchup in my mac and cheese,” she says confidently as she sets down the bottle and pushes her clammy white-blonde hair from her face.

  Sonny climbs up onto the table and crawls into the center on all fours. Of course, his favorite stuffed duck is right there with him.

  "Stop it, Sonny." Lisa swats at him with one hand while she types furiously with the other. Multi-tasking like only a 21st century mother can.

  I scoop up a spoonful of clumpy, neon orange pasta from my plate and I chow down hungrily. Rachel giggles at my hearty bite and then her eyes latch onto the bandage on the inside of my arm. "How come you got a Band-Aid on your arm?"

  At that, Lisa sneezes into the air and shoots me a gaze. "Are you shootin' up or somethin'?" I notice the subtle twitch of her nose as she says it.

  "I'm not shootin' up," I tell her. "Never have. Never will."

  Rachel is still staring at me, expecting an answer. “Shooting up what?” Her little blue eyes shine with innocence and curiosity.

  "I went to the doctor today," I say, deliberately ignoring her most recent question.

  “What’d you go to the doctor for?”

  An STD test. How much detail are we giving out to four-year-olds about the birds and the bees these days?

  I get no help from Lisa, who’s still busy sniffling and typing on her phone. Right on cue, Sonny sneezes. Right into my plate of pasta.

  "Ugh!" I push my dinner to the far edge of the table and pull the child into my lap.

  "Did Sonny get you sick? Sonny gets everybody sick." Rachel throws an accusatory glare at her little brother who innocently bangs the table with his spoon like he isn’t the propagator of the sneezing, coughing, sniffling misery that’s gone viral in this house. I got my dose of sickness last week and fought it off quickly. Now, I’m immune. Hopefully.

  Anyway, the little boy has had a cough since I got here and his nose never seems to stop running. I've been telling Lisa to get him to the doctor but she doesn't have insurance and she's generally resentful of anything that cuts into her beer and junk food budget. She gets mad when I suggest that she lay off the booze. According to her, alcohol was never her problem.

  "Why'd you go to the doctor, Clinty?" Rachel asks again. Damn, that little girl is persistent.

  I think back to my reason. Everything about yesterday was spontaneous. I didn't go into that cupcake shop with the intention to fuck Vivian on the counter. I honest-to-god just went to talk, to make peace, to find some middle ground with her. But she just kept pushing each and every one of my buttons. The tension between us was ratcheted to the max. And when she threw those raspberries at me, that was the last fucking straw. I lost it. Next thing you know, I was kissing her then she was on the edge of the counter, ramming my naked cock into her pussy, riding me like a deranged cowgirl.

  I felt bad afterward. I'm pretty sure she spent the night driving herself crazy, beating herself up for having let herself free the way she did w
ith me. That's why I went to the doctor. I know that I'm clean but I needed that piece of paper that would assure her of it, too. Not because I plan on fucking her again but because I don't want her walking around, wondering if the ‘brute’ from the barbershop gave her some kind of disease.

  Rachel grabs my sleeve in her little fist and shakes with all her might. “Clinty?!”

  I give her a version of the truth that she can understand. "I went for a check-up. To make sure that I'm okay. Big and strong." I bend my elbow, flexing my muscles to make her smile.