F*CK Reality: Take One Page 10

  But, damn it.

  “When in Rome,” Addie interrupts, saying more with that statement than she could know.

  Rather than bringing over fists full of shot glasses, she’s managed to bring a tray of however many she can sit on top of it.

  When she starts passing the drinks around the table, divvying them up in equal measures to all of us, she says, “I told the bartender you’d pay for these, too, Brock.”

  Brock sits back and smiles. “Of course you did.”

  “Bottom’s up, ladies.” Addie lifts her glass and readies the first of so many shots.

  An hour later, we’ve added two additional tables to our group. Addie insisted on playing quarters, very well knowing my skill and aim are shit. We’ve consumed another round of shot glasses and are now teetering on the verge of very drunk and completely inebriated. My stomach hurts from laughing as much as I have, and my usual fair judgment has moved to the wayside.

  Brock’s compliments to my appearance haven’t stopped since the others started paying less attention to us and more to each other. We’ve secluded ourselves completely, even in the middle of the chaotic crowd Addie’s brought to the table.

  “Are you having a good time?” he questions. His arm has been possessively draped along the back of my chair for the last hour.

  “I think so,” I reply. “I haven’t had tequila since high school.”

  “High school?” he admonishes. “How’s that possible?”

  Shrugging, I return, “I’m a simple girl. I like beer.”

  “You’re a cheap drunk, you mean,” he corrects. He’s joking, of course. “Or you’re a really cheap date.”

  “I am that,” I explain. He doesn’t know me, or if anything I say is true. “I’m also really good with my mouth,” I blurt next and hold in a laugh as he chokes on his beer.

  There’s no way to know if my flippant comment spurs his reaction or not, but once he’s swallowed what he can, he leans in close. His eyes grow hooded and dark, and his voice is raspy and seductive when he suggests, “Come to my room after this.”

  All signs, every one my mind can imagine, point to this being a huge mistake.

  “You want me to come to your room?”

  “Yes,” he asserts. “Stay the rest of the night with me, Brooke.” Leaning in closer, his hand runs the expanse of my thigh. “Don’t think about it. Go with your gut. Yes or no.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  This is a bad idea.

  This is a good idea.

  This is a fucking great idea.

  Brock

  -

  “I never do this,” Brooke insists in a lost breath. “I swear I don’t.”

  She’s pulling my hair as I’ve got her soft body imprisoned against the elevator wall. She says she never does this, and if that’s the case, she’s a goddamn quick study. Truth be told, she can confess or admit to whatever the hell she wants. At this point, I’d believe anything she said.

  My hand is beneath her shirt, but still over her bra. Her chest is perfect. The weight heavy and the tips tight.

  Perfect.

  As we sat around the table throwing back shot after shot and listening to her friend, Addie, chatter on with all the people she pulled into our once small group, Brooke and I sat quietly side by side. Addie’s endless bantering and crazy quarter playing skills wasn’t what held my attention.

  Brooke did.

  The way she spoke, smiled, laughed. Every eye roll, every high five, every curse word—and it has to be said she doesn’t curse well—had me putting forward my utmost attention.

  She was my night’s only focus.

  Unfortunately, as the evening and drinks progressed, I wasn’t the only man in the room captivated by her understated beauty. Those idiots around us started to notice her as well. The quiet girl I had private privileges to no longer became just mine. Judging by the look on some of those men’s faces, they were all interested to know if I’d share.

  That was a no.

  I don’t mind competition as long as the prize includes everything I want for the night, and Brooke was definitely all those things.

  So, I didn’t give them any opportunities.

  In reaction to their obvious interest, I did things I’d never done before. I was the first to make my intentions known. I acted ridiculous, staking my claim by grabbing her hand and casually leaning over to kiss her cheek, neck, and hand. Then I continued to dote on her. I didn’t mind doing it, I just didn’t enjoy feeling as though I had to. In my alcohol induced state, I may or may not have considered pissing on her to mark my territory had she not agreed to come up with me after the last round of drinks were finished.

  “Where’s your room?” she questions as I use my teeth and tongue to taste her neck. If I weren’t so drunk, I’d savor the flavor of her skin.

  Standing straight, but keeping my hand locked at her waist, I turn around and hit the button to the eighteenth floor. At the same time, I’m cursing the distance it’ll take to get us there.

  Lifting her head and using the pull of my hair as leverage, she asks, “Your room is the penthouse?”

  I’m not sure if she’s caught on to the reasons for my stay, and if I tell her, I’m afraid she’ll stop what I’ve been looking forward to for the last three hours.

  Thus, I don’t hesitate to lie, “Yeah, company policy.”

  Her eyes narrow.

  Apprehension and hesitation are settling in too soon. To avoid this, I step back into her and run my fingertips up the warm, soft skin of her thighs. Catching the hem of her short skirt, I raise it enough to get her attention. Her eyes close, and her lips form a subtle smile.

  She likes my hands on her.

  “Kiss me again,” I demand, keeping my eyes open to gauge her reaction.

  She doesn’t comply, but rather reaches between us and uses her hand to cup my cock. In my painfully aroused state, her touch is threatening.

  “Fuck, woman. You’re killing me.”

  With her eyes still closed, she smirks, but this time she licks her lips.

  “Yes, you’re going to kill me,” I confirm, not about to take my eyes from her mouth.

  The elevator door dings before coming to a stop. At the same time, we step apart. Before the door fully opens, I notice she’s panting as she adjusts herself to stand straight. She’s also fighting to straighten her skirt. I’m standing in the opposite corner, wishing like hell I could help her out of it.

  When I look up to find who’s entered the elevator, I notice it’s the same blonde who blew me off earlier. Her dress is wrinkled in the front, and her high heel shoes dangle from her fingers. The blonde’s hair looks as if she’s been thoroughly fucked. My guess is, shortly after leaving me to my business, she found herself some of her own and now she’s unknowingly trying to ruin the rest of my night.

  The ride up is quiet. I chance a look at Brooke and find her leaning against the wall, holding the railing with both hands. She’s not smiling, and she doesn’t appear to be having second thoughts. Instead, she’s openly staring at me, taking me in, so I wink. Her face turns red at the same time the blonde clears her throat. She can see us in the reflection of the metal door, so I turn to look directly at her.

  Once we hit the thirteenth floor, the door opens and the blonde moves to step out. Brooke then jumps, throwing herself into my arms. I grab her ass and kiss her hard, our tongues combat in equal thrusts.

  “Hands,” she utters, shifting her head to look down between us. “Touch me.”

  Christ, this woman is relentless.

  The elevator dings again, so I turn to look up and quickly realize we’re finally where we need to be. I don’t put her down as I walk into my room. It’s dark, but the lights from the city beam through the top to bottom wall of glass windows.

  It’s not until Brooke’s legs grow stiff that I put her down and wait until she’s balanced herself before letting go. When she starts to sway, I lean her against the back of the door. Without wasting time
, I drop to my knees. As I do, she bends at the waist to help remove my suit jacket. I shrug it off before lifting her skirt and go eagerly in search of purchase.

  Her thong is no challenge. One quick rip and it’s gone, lying on the floor next to my jacket. As I move in to get my first taste, she drapes one leg over my shoulder and releases a loud, cursing moan into the room. Any other time, I’d coin this as a fake porn call, but hers isn’t.

  Her pink flesh is heated, wet, and sweet to taste. I dive in with added aggression, feeling my cock continue its painful twitch in spite of my effort to slow it down. As I continue baiting her to release, I look up and find she’s struggling to remove her shirt. The material gets caught in her hair and she’s fighting, and losing, the battle to release it. Her arms flailing above her head shouldn’t be as funny as it is, but the fact she’s losing a fight against a thin piece of material is amusing.

  Figuring she’ll hurt herself if I let it continue, I stand, push her back against the door, and take over. She doesn’t give me time to enjoy the sight of her tanned skin and athletic build for long. Her mouth crashes against mine, and she takes it with fervor.

  Once free of my buckle and zipper, everything I’m wearing falls to the floor. She’s just finished unbuttoning my shirt through an uncontrollable giggle. I love the sound of her laugh. It’s one of the first things that repeatedly caught my attention at the table. Any other time I’d be happy to hear it, but not now. Not when I’m naked.

  “You’re good?” I question, hoping to fuck all she is. My cock is waiting for the green light.

  Nodding, she mumbles into my mouth and jumps from the floor into my arms. She weighs nothing, which is good considering I’m walking with her in my arms after consuming as much tequila as I did.

  My hands grip her generous ass, and I waste no time in getting her across the room.

  “I’m not a hooker,” she announces. She pulls her head back, looks into my eyes, and runs her fingers through my hair. The small act of intimacy feels as if she’s done it before, with someone else, and couldn’t wait to do it again.

  Unfortunately, not personally knowing her, I can only guess she’s not a hooker. “I know.”

  “And this will mean nothing,” she claims. The look of excitement she once had begins to fade now that we’re in my room. I hate it. “I mean, not nothing,” she corrects. “Just that, ya know.”

  “I got it,” I confirm.

  “Well, you say you do, but I’m not—”

  “Are you finished?” I ask, hoping to shut her thoughts down so she can focus.

  I’ve been with a lot of women, and sure as fuck more than my fair share. Brooke’s apprehension, attached to her nervous chatter tells me she hasn’t had the same experience with casual sex.

  “I’m not a slut,” she says next. “I mean I don’t—”

  “Brooke,” I call for her drunken attention through my now unfortunate sobering state.

  Her eyes slowly close, added tequila soaking through her muddled brain. At this point, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

  “I’ve only been—”

  I don’t want a list of partners, and I sense this is where her intent is going.

  “Button,” I whisper. Her eyes immediately open, so I smirk. She takes in a breath when I quietly observe, “There she is.”

  “You called me ‘Button’ earlier.”

  “I did.”

  Looking around my bedroom, she takes it in quickly before her lips crash to mine, and her legs stiffen to be set free.

  “Sex!” she shouts with glee. “We’re having sex!”

  The little drunken woman is all over the place.

  “We could have sex,” I advise, “if you’d get your shit together.”

  Giggling, Brooke jumps on the bed and sprawls herself on top of it. The discussion leading us to this room had me forgetting she’s nearly naked. Her tight body is spread out on my comforter with her arms stretched over her head. Her legs are closed, but her skirt rides up her thighs, close to giving me a glimpse of what’s beneath it.

  “Shit, my wallet,” I remember. “Condom.”

  She laughs again. Fuck, I love that sound.

  “I’ll be back.” I hate that I’m having to walk away for any reason, but seriously, I always use a condom.

  After I’ve rummaged through my pants and found my wallet, I return. In the short time I was gone, I find Brooke’s made herself comfortable. The pillows have been discarded to the floor; her skirt and bra are lying next to them, and the blankets hide her naked body.

  An open bottle of mini-bar tequila sits on the table beside the bed.

  “I’m not—” she starts, but I stop her.

  “If you tell me you’re not a hooker or a slut, I’m going to beat your ass red,” I threaten, and her eyes grow wide. The thought excites her. “You don’t look, sound, or act like either. I believe you.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” she huffs out, half-ticked as she sits up. “I was going to say I wasn’t sure if you wanted more to drink, but I did.”

  Walking to the bed, depositing myself heavily on top of it, I roll into her, but stay above the covers.

  “I’ll drink from you,” I advise, reaching inside the sheet and blanket in order to tear them from her body.

  She laughs as I throw her legs over my shoulders to finish what I’d started. In and out, I thrust my tongue inside, reveling in her heavy gasps. Her hands run through my hair, stopping only when I’ve hit her spot. The spot. Her body is responsive, telling me what it likes. And fuck, the woman tastes good.

  When I’ve got her close, with her legs shaking and her breathing labored, I release her to bite the inside of her thigh. She yelps, then makes a half-hearted attempt to get away.

  Not happening.

  “Want another taste?” I query. In the dull light of my room, I watch her eyebrows furrow in obvious confusion. My mouth gets close to hers, where I insist, “Lick my lips, Brooke. Taste yourself.”

  “Oh God,” she whispers. Her eyes widen in disbelief.

  “Do it,” I encourage.

  When she does as I’ve told her, my hips push forward. Her clit and outside center feels like silk, but not nearly as good as I imagine the rest of her will feel.

  If I make it that far.

  Grabbing the condom from the table, I use my teeth to rip it open. She lies beneath me, drunkenly smirking. I’m not amused.

  “You have a nice tongue,” she awkwardly compliments, causing me to lose focus with the condom. “I mean, you know what you’re doing with it.” She stops long enough to hate the silence as much as I do, then states, “I told you I was good with my mouth, too.”

  Taking in a deep, methodic breath, I ask, “Are you challenging me?”

  “Yep,” she answers assuredly, shimmying her body under mine. Inch by agonizing inch, I let her scoot down the bed from beneath me, using her hands and backside for balance.

  No man would refuse Brooke’s generous offer, so I close my eyes as she brings her face to my cock and grabs it with both hands. Her warm breath kisses it first before she sucks it in with one long, swift pull.

  “Christ,” I hiss, holding myself up by one arm. “Fuck! Do that again,” I demand when she flattens her tongue against the underside and plays with the sensitive flesh.

  With one hand wrapped around my length, the other massages my tight balls. The woman aiming to make me come down her throat claims to be no hooker, and I believe her. Yet, for reasons I don’t want to think about, someone’s taught her well. She’s a god damn pro.

  “Brooke, you have to stop,” I seethe, but the desire to feel the back of her throat again pushes my hips forward. She’s not paying attention, and if she doesn’t, soon I’ll empty into her completely. “Really. Stop.” I thrust again as she giggles. The vibration nearly causes my release.

  “Get up here,” I snap with impatience.

  Once she’s settled herself beneath me, she spreads her thighs wide. I look do
wn to find her eyes making fun.

  “Hang on,” I insist, lifting my body from hers, enough that I’m able to finally and successfully sheath myself.

  “Do you need a minute?” she questions, still giggling. “Is this your first time?”

  “You got jokes?” I spit, clenching my teeth and rubbing the pulsing crown of my swollen cock against her just as swollen clit.

  If Brooke’s this wasted and still spirited drunk, I imagine she could completely undo me sober. The very thought holds promise.

  “Ready,” I ask, finally closing in just outside her pussy.

  “Do it,” she breathes, sounding a lot like she’s giving an order.

  When I drive in deep, my jaw clinches. A muttering string of quiet curses breaks from my chest and I use it to get myself in check.

  Her hips are flush against mine, meeting me in rhythm. However, more aggressively so. The feel of her, like velvet, fitted and ready, is already tempting my undoing and we’ve only just started.

  “Fuck, you’re tight, and so wet,” I hiss, feeling the soft walls of her pussy pulsating around me.

  Definitely not a hooker. She’s killing me.

  “I’ve been worked up for over an hour,” I explain, pinching her chest and sucking the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Slow the fuck down.”

  She doesn’t listen.

  Her trembles of greed go into further frenzy as her hands explore my body. My back feels the spearing of her fingernails. My ass enjoys the pain of her heels digging in. My chest savors the feel of her naked body beneath it.

  “I’m close,” she cries out to my satisfaction. Slowing down, I wait for her release to back away. Obviously, she holds no appreciation for my wish to savor any of this. Her hips lift, and using mine as leverage, she moves faster from the bottom—back and forth, up and down. “Don’t stop.”

  “Fucking hell, you’ll pay for this,” I threaten to no avail.

  She’s an intoxicating combination of foreplay, sex, and rapid fire, all at once.

  Too fucking much...

  When her body tightens, clenching me like a vise from inside, I pull out and grab her wrists, pulling them up over her head so she can’t touch me.