Boys Next Door (12 page)

Coop.

‘Very nice. I’m sure he wept when he came. Or something just as interesting and “movie of the weekish”.’

That pissed me off. Stephen was a good man. He was a sweet man. And there was no shame in being either.

‘What’s your problem, Cooper?’ I asked, walking to the foot of his porch steps. ‘You just mad that I got from him what you wouldn’t give up?’

Even under the porch light I saw the brief ripple in his face. He wasn’t used to someone tossing masculine energy back at him. Especially not a
girl
. I’m sure James Cooper surrounded himself with a whole gaggle of ‘oh-yes-please-tie-me-up-and-fuck-me-real-good’ daddy girls. And I wasn’t averse to that, mind you. But cruelty I could not abide.

‘Guess I’m not a slut,’ he said, smoothly, shrugging his shoulders.

‘Too bad for you,’ I whispered just loud enough for him to hear me. ‘I’m good to my sluts.’

I turned on my clogs and headed home.

He came after me. I could feel his energy rushing toward mine before I even heard him. When I faced him, he looked to be an unsettled blend of confused, horny and sorry. ‘You know where to find me when you’re ready,’ he said, playing the same game as earlier.

And suddenly I was full of rage.

I took a step toward him instead of away – which is what he was probably expecting.

Pointing a finger, I leaned in and said very softly, ‘You could have had what he just had. I’m not fucking around. I lived twenty-eight years of fucking around and it got me nowhere. I learn from my mistakes.’

He stared at my finger but said nothing. Neither of us moved. It was a standoff.

‘I didn’t come here to do the same stupid shit. No games, Coop, I don’t play them. I’m done with games.
You
know where to find
me
when you’re done being a pussy tease and want to give it up.’

It shocked the shit out of him – I could tell – when I reached around and patted his ass dismissively.

I walked to my house, up the steps and let myself in. Without looking back.

* * *

There was something in my face. And here with me having a dream about rolling in bacon – figure that one out, Doctor Freud.

I swatted it and it disappeared.

I waited to drift back off but instead of feeling the groping arms of sleep, I felt my heart rate pick up. Thumping. Hard.

Whatever it was brushed my cheek again, then my lower lip. Silken smooth and warm and smelling of warm saltwater.

I opened my eyes and James Cooper was kneeling over me, cock out, brushing it over my face.

I swatted at him, rage filling my chest even as the fear and excitement spurred a concoction of desire and surprise-soaked excitement.

‘God damn it.’ I heard myself. It didn’t sound like me.

But he laughed his cocky laugh and caught my hand as I flailed. Big strong fingers encircling my wrist like a manacle.

‘Come on, now, cupcake, you invited me.’

He’d backed off, but his cock was still out, still hard, still very close to my face. And almost against my will I stared at it in the low light that filtered into my living room from the street lamps.

‘Get out.’

‘But you invited me in.’ He inched closer.

‘What are you? A fucking vampire,’ I growled and tried to take a swing at him again but he held my wrist tight, squeezing my wrist just hard enough to shock my bones and remind me who was in control here.

‘Much worse.’

He sat, but didn’t let my wrist go. ‘See, I was thinking,’ he continued, lazily stroking his fist up and down his hard erection.

I smelled him a lot now – saltwater, warm cotton, cold air, and man. I heard him too. The secretive whisper of his callused fist on his hard dick.

‘You wanted to suck my cock so bad in the basement. I figured I’d come let you do it.’

I wanted to be enraged. I wanted to slug him. I wanted to kick his smug arrogant self out and tell him never to darken my doorstep again. But I was having trouble ignoring the flutter and thump of arousal in my cunt. Or the wetness that was apparently the precursor to my downward slide into bad, dirty, rough sex – with Coop.

‘No.’

He released my wrist and put his now free hand up in the air like he was being arrested. ‘Hey, okay. No problem. I was just going on what you said, Farrell.’

Why wasn’t I forcing him to leave? Why wasn’t I yelling?

Because I was too busy being mesmerised like a cobra in a basket by the tune of his hand on his own flesh.

I licked my lips, moved away from him just enough to try and think.

He just kept stroking.

‘You know what your name makes me think of?’

Whisper-whisper-whisper
went his palm along his erection.

‘No,’ I whispered, hearing the need in my own voice. Loving it and hating it at the same time.

‘
Feral.
Wild. You, my dear, are wild and untamed and, God, so fucking needy right now.
Wanting
.’

He finally stopped that sound, releasing his shaft. But it was in my head now and I heard the phantom rasp of him jacking himself off. I shook my head to try and clear it. I failed.

He got up on his knees, jeans down around his lean hips: green eyes, that I could not see, boring holes into me that I could surely feel. ‘So what about it, Feral? Suck my cock.’

He said the last in gravel rough whisper and leaned his hips close to me. Like he was fucking me, only higher.

And I parted my lips and took the thrust, sucking the smooth heat of his tip into my mouth, relishing how hot my cheeks were with shame. How my stomach tumbled and fluttered from frustration but, yes, fuck me yes – insane attraction.

I let him thrust deeper and heard the small strangled gasp that he evoked by stuffing my throat with himself.

He groaned and it was the first time that he’d sounded truly human – somewhat vulnerable – to me. Odd, because to the naked eye, he was the least vulnerable right now. Fucking my mouth like he owned me. Making my fists knot up in the sleep-warm sheets of my makeshift bed on the sofa.

I took him as gracefully as I could. And when I couldn’t do it gracefully, I did it hungrily. Feeling the length of him spear the back of my tongue and my throat, making me struggle for air, bringing tears to my eyes. I had those spikes of fear that made me try and rear up from under him but he backed off just enough and said softly, almost tenderly, ‘Hush.’

But then he’d fill me again and I’d have to fight my instinct to struggle.

It was then I saw what I was doing – when I realised my error. I surrendered and gave myself over to the perfection that was being used in that moment for pleasure. Cooper growled when he felt me relax. But under the growl was a frustration, I heard it and I felt it and after one more deep surge into my throat, he pulled free of my mouth.

I sucked hard at the air in the room and enjoyed the perversity of the moment. How I’d simply given in, and how I felt gorgeously boneless and peaceful for having done it.

He flipped me, muttering, ‘Fuck,’ under his breath. He didn’t raise me up on hands and knees but pushed me down and I heard the rip and crinkle of the condom wrapper. The smell of rubber flooded my nose and then he was shoving into me.

We both paused for a moment as the words ripped out of him. ‘Jesus, Feral, you’re so fucking wet. You really did get off on …’ But then he sighed because what he was about to say would push
him
over the edge, not me.

We both knew it.

He thrust deep and rough, and my face rasped against my pillow, my hair a whispering tangle around my face. He pinned me with his hands by my hips, driving into me like he could erase his weakness.

He hadn’t expected my surrender. Not after our showdown earlier. So when I had given myself over to him, it had been too much. Unexpected. Frailty where he’d anticipated anger.

Coop grabbed my right hand and moved just enough to wedge it under my body, pressing it to my sex. His hand laid out over mine like a human glove and it didn’t escape my notice that he was thrusting faster – a barely controlled chaos of flesh and blood.

‘Show me. Come on, Feral, show me.’

So I did. I showed him how I liked it, moving my hand just so. Pressing just hard enough. Grinding my pelvis to my fingertips as he filled me. Punishing me for making him skate so close to losing the control he so obviously loved.

His breath was hot and manic in my ear and I moved myself back and up just enough to take him deeper. I stroked myself with his fingers spread over mine, mimicking mine as he followed along.

And when that hitch in my breathing sounded he let out a rush of air, tinted with relief. I was going to come. That meant he could come and not look weak.

‘Come for me, Farrell,’ he whispered.

I obeyed. But mostly it was because in that moment – where he had me bent to his will – he used my real name. He gave me that. And in that early morning instant, it was a priceless thing.

I came, face pressed to the cushion, cry muffled by hair and pillow and comforter. He jerked once with release, his face pressed to my neck, fingers bruising my hips, body slamming mine flat.

‘I swear, you’re a witch,’ he said, curling a finger along my spine before standing and pulling on his jeans.

Nope. Just the big bad wolf …

He leaned in and surprised me by kissing me fiercely. His mouth hot and intrusive against my mouth.

I couldn’t resist. When he pulled away I said, ‘I thought you said I wasn’t ready yet.’

‘You were ready,’ he grated. And then he walked out of the room. I heard the front door click and latch, and flopped back down to try and sleep.

Why did dogs need to be groomed so fucking early, I wondered when the alarm went off.

‘Seriously?’

Even without the middle of the night impromptu rendezvous with Coop, it wouldn’t have been enough sleep. Speaking of which, when I moved, I felt the mild soreness between my legs. I sat up, relishing it. That ache and twinge of fucking – of being
taken
.

‘I’ll have to ask him how he got in,’ I breathed. Then I padded to the bathroom, thinking I should take Donna up on her offer of adopting Brutus. Then I’d be talking to a dog and not myself.

The water was hot, the steam was relaxing and I washed my hair vigorously with bitter orange shampoo, inhaling the rich scent greedily, and then smeared on loads of conditioner. The wind had been tangling the crap out of my long hair, and the way Coop had crushed me down last night had nearly turned my knots to dreadlocks.

Jeans and a JOY DIVISION T-shirt, motorcycle boots and a hoodie. This was how you dressed to dip dogs in flea dip right? I made coffee and toast, determined not to relive the middle of the night moments with Coop’s cock buried in my throat and then the rough way he’d fucked me, face down like I was being punished.

I was determined not to think about it, so every time it popped into my mind – in vibrant candy colours, no less – I shivered to the core of myself. The rush of adrenaline and remembered pleasure.

Jesus, woman.

I finished my coffee, dropped the mug in the sink and realised I had about half an hour. I’d get there early, but maybe I could visit with Brutus and really consider bringing him home.

‘Fuck.’ It was all I could think to say when I opened the front door and found flowers and a bakery box. Something told me the gifts weren’t from the same person.

The flowers were from Deke. Bright daisies and lovely carnations and greens that tickled at my face. The note simply said MORNING, LADY. I inhaled deeply – I had always preferred the earthy scent of carnations to the heady odour of roses. I smiled, shaking my head at the chivalrous gesture.

The bakery box was a no brainer but I folded back the note to see, THANKS FOR A SWEET NIGHT, STEPHEN.

Ugh. Flowers. Pastries. Sweet notes, and me with the sudden realisation that I was making a huge mistake. Fucking all the men who lived directly across from me was probably the dumbest thing I could do.

‘You really have them wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?’

When I looked up, Coop was standing there, mouth set, a work boot resting on my first porch step. But he didn’t come up.

‘I’m not … I mean … No.’ It was a lie, I feared, but he made me feel so bad. As if I’d maliciously set out to fuck it all up.

‘Sure you do. Flowers from Deke. A classic Deke move, FYI. And pastries from bakery boy … I mean,
come on
.’

He smirked at me and I felt the anger surge up in my stomach, more bitter than the coffee.

‘Well, I clearly don’t have
you
wrapped around my finger,’ I snapped.

He looked down for a beat and when he looked back up, his face was unreadable to me. ‘I don’t get wrapped.’

‘Why are you here?’ I demanded, setting the flowers and the bakery box inside my door and then locking it.

‘I just wanted to tell you that I got in through the kitchen window. The latch is busted. The screen comes out. You might want to fix that.’

I might want to fix that – if I didn’t want him sneaking in again. That was what he meant. So if I left it broken and left myself vulnerable, what would
that
mean?

‘Thanks.’

I stomped down the wooden steps and right past him. He watched me, but said nothing. Nervousness bubbled up in me, and I was annoyed to hear myself rush to fill the silence.

‘Well, I have to go. I have to get to work.’

Coop nodded.

‘And I might be getting a dog.’

His green eyes sparkled and he hooked his fingers in the waistband of his faded jeans. ‘To keep the likes of me out?’

I told myself to be quiet. In my head I raged against what I was about to say. And yet, I said it. ‘He’s a dachshund.’

There was a moment – a heartbeat – of silence and then he dropped his head and chuckled. Coop turned to move past me but paused, twining a lock of my hair around his finger. ‘I’ll remember that for next time. I’ll make sure to wear my boots. You know …’ He tugged my hair and I felt a resounding tug in my pussy to match it. ‘To protect my ankles.’