Authors: Kirsty Dallas
She took a few steps away, and I followed her back across the road. She was headed towards the car, and my cock was rock hard and pressing almost painfully against the zipper of my jeans. She wanted to get a room, and I wanted to fist pump the fucking air. I glanced around and realized how far from a room we actually were. I wasn’t sure if I could wait; perhaps she would be content with the backseat of my car? No, I really needed a room for what I wanted to do to this woman.
“Wasn’t half bad? Were you even there for that kiss? That kiss was fucking epic!”
She shrugged, the twinkle in her eye when she peered over her shoulder told me she was clearly enjoying this game. “It was alright.”
I snorted. “Clearly you need reminding.” I reached for her, but she stepped away and tsked me with a raised finger.
“Uh-uh, Bradley, I’m not the kind of girl to play this game, even if the bridge dancing was incredibly romantic.”
I wanted to pat my own damn back for that nugget of romantic genius. I had a few tricks up my sleeve, and I was more than happy to show her what else I had to offer.
“I’m not that girl you can one-night-stand out of your life.”
I stopped in my tracks, and it took her a few more paces to realize she was walking on her own. When she turned and took a few tentative steps toward me, I found myself wondering where the hell I went wrong with this girl. I’d been an ass, a pissed off, grumpy, rude, arrogant ass, and she’d been nothing but sweet.
She assumed I was
guy, a man who indulged in one-night stands, a man who ate the candy and carelessly threw away the sparkly wrapper. She wasn’t far off in her assumptions, even though I wanted to think of myself as a man who did the right thing by women, recent erotic misadventures proved otherwise.
“You told me you wanted to fuck me out of your system.” Her voice was low as she stopped a few feet from me. “That’s not me, Bradley. Call me old-fashioned, but I dream of romance. Just because I work in the porn industry doesn’t mean I’m not immune to the idea of love. I don’t sleep around.” She shook her head in frustration. “Even on the job, I asked Ryder to keep me with the same couple of partners so I would feel more comfortable. Outside of the job, I date, but I only sleep with men I am serious about.” The mischievous twinkle was back in her eye. “And I never kiss on a first date; you made me break my rule.”
I smiled, too, but the guilt I was suddenly consumed with made the smile feel forced. I told her I wanted to fuck her out of my system, and what’s worse, I truly believed I could. That wasn’t me . . . well, it never used to be me, and I didn’t want it to be me. Perhaps my self-imposed exile from my home and friends, and the recent reminder that breaking up sucks, had turned me into a bitter old bastard. I had come to the realization that there was no way I could screw this girl out of my system. I had a feeling she was more like a drug that I was quickly becoming addicted to.
“I’m sorry. I never should have said that to you. I think I was a little resentful that I wanted you, and I’m not the kind of guy to share, so the whole porn thing would put the kibosh on anything I wanted to start with you.”
Her cheeks gained a little color, but she didn’t shy away when she looked me right in the eye. “You wanted to start something with me? Something more than just a fling or one night stand?”
“And you didn’t because of my career.”
I nodded again.
“Because you’re a monogamous kind of guy.”
“Of course I am. Don’t let my terrible behavior of late fool you. I’m not into sharing what’s mine. I was the same as a child, never liked sharing my toys. I even stopped talking to Decker for a few weeks when we were teenagers because he took my NSYNC CD without asking.”
She held her hands in front of her body and shook her head with a horrified look on her face. “Okay, I think we may have a deal breaker on our hands. You like NSYNC?”
I tried to fight the grin that crept up, but it was impossible. “What’s not to like? Their second album sold over one million copies in a day, the proof of their awesomeness is in the billions of dollars they made.”
“Nu-uh, no deal . . . NSYNC?” She shook her head, disgusted.
“Would it help if I said it was just a phase? I dropped them as soon as Decker introduced me to The Smashing Pumpkins. He wasn’t impressed with my pre-pubescent music taste, either.”
Wiska chewed on her bottom lip as she considered this, and all the while I wanted to chew on it for her. “I guess I should let this one go. I was a Take That fan myself.”
“Oh, hell no! That is a definite deal breaker,” I huffed, walking right past her.
“Hey now, they were way cooler than NSYNC. They had Robbie.”
I glanced over my shoulder with a raised brow as we approached the car. “Yeah, and NSYNC had Justin.” She screwed up her nose at that; it was a cute, just like that righteous eye roll she had perfected.
“Let’s agree to disagree.”
When she would have stepped into the passenger seat of my car, I stopped her with a hand on her elbow and leaned in close. Her gaze dropped to my lips, and her little pink tongue swiped across her bottom lip, but I wasn’t about to kiss her. I didn’t want to break her rules. Instead, I had plans to become as much her obsession as she was mine. I was going to woo the sexy fucking lingerie right off her sexy fucking ass.
“You sure you don’t want to go dancing,” I whispered in her ear.
“We already danced.” I took a moment to enjoy the breathless whisper of her voice.
“I’d be more than happy to dance with you a little longer, pussycat. I could dance with you all fucking night and not get tired.”
“Are you going to kiss me again?” she murmured.
I took a moment to admire those soft lips that I most definitely wanted to kiss again. “Nope,” I finally said with more conviction than I felt.
“Why not?” she asked with a confused look on her face.
“I’m not breaking your rules.”
“I never took you for a gentleman, Bradley.”
“Trust me, I’m no gentleman, pussycat.” I pushed away from the car and gave her room to get in. “But I’ve been known to behave myself when the reward is worth it.”
“And what’s the reward?” Wiska chuckled.
“I guess you’ll have to tell me which date gets a kiss, ’cause that’s my first reward.”
“Your first reward?”
“Second base will be my next reward.”
She laughed. “And I guess third base will be your final reward?”
“Nope, I’m betting you’ll be so amazed by second base you will jump my bones on the spot.”
“Is that right?” she asked, clearly fighting a grin.
“Pussycat, if second base doesn’t sweep you off your feet, I’ll not only be your personal slave for a day, but I’ll be Casey’s, too.” I climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“So confident,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery. “You are a temptation, Bradley Emerson, that’s for sure,” she finally murmured, and I hid my smile.
She had no fucking idea how much of a temptation I could be when I put in the effort.
I lay with my head hanging over the side of the mattress. I’d had a bad night’s sleep; my thoughts lingered over Bradley and his mind blowing kiss all night. I had never been kissed like that before, as though the man wanted to consume and own me. My fingers touched my lips that still seemed to feel the pressure of his mouth against mine. Hell, I was horny and had been tempted to knock down Bradley’s door and climb into that mountain of a bed and take him in ways that almost made me blush! His kisses were lethal and had turned me into a walking bag of lust. I needed a few moments alone with my ever faithful orgasm connoisseur, Thor. Since Bradley had snuck out the front door almost an hour ago, I could easily slip into his room and take a moment to release some built up tension. The way he had unashamedly taken me into his arms and danced with me in the middle of a footpath was movie moment worthy. Hi, my name is Wiska James, and my sexual sobriety has lasted four months. I’m willing to give it all away because a man DANCED WITH ME . . . ON A BRIDGE!
“Morning, sunshine!” Casey sang as he wandered down the long hallway.
I groaned, any thoughts of a quick fling between the sheets with Thor were now gone.
“I know, I know, my sheer presence alone is enough to bring entire nations into a groaning mess of need. Enjoy it while it lasts. My man wants to snuggle, so I’m only stopping by for a drink then I’m off to bring him to his knees . . . literally,” he said with a wink. “FYI, you have mail.” Casey pointed to the coffee table I had pushed to one side to accommodate for the sofa bed. A glass of juice sat there with a sticky note stuck to the side of it.
“Oh,” I said with surprise.
I had heard Bradley quietly moving around the room earlier, but I had feigned sleep in an attempt to
jump his deliciously handsome, if somewhat confusing, bones. I leaned across and grabbed the post-it note.
My who-ha did a little summersault at the thought.
“What does it say? Because we need milk. Does it say he’s bringing home milk?” Casey asked.
“No milk,” I murmured a little breathlessly.
“Well, we need it,” he huffed. “I’m leaving Lord of Sticky Notes his own damn note.” He grabbed a pen and a sticky note from the kitchen counter. “WE . . . NEED . . . COW . . . JUICE,” he said as he wrote, before tacking it under a magnet on the front of the fridge. “And it better not be any of that skim stuff. If I wanted cloudy water, I’d get it out of the faucet.”
Casey wandered over to my sofa bed, while my thoughts were once again tangled with Bradley and his deadly kisses, except now I was imagining those kisses on another part of my anatomy.
“WTF, HE KISSED YOU?” Casey shouted.
I pulled the sticky note to my chest, too late.
“WHEN? WHY? WHAT?”
“Enough with all the W’s,” I sighed.
“But you don’t kiss on the first date. You haven’t even been on a date with Bradley. Holy shit, I need to call Andi.”
“Oh no, you don’t!” I yelled, jumping from the bed.
Casey admired my Sponge Bob pajamas before his frustrated gaze landed on mine. “Well, start talking. I need deets to figure out if we need an intervention.”
I collapsed back into the sofa bed and pulled a pillow over my head. This would have been so much easier if I didn’t have to explain it to the man who seemed to have the attention span and attitude of a five-year-old.
“Bradley took me to dinner, and he made me eat chips. Did you know chips are the same as fries? The British don’t call them fries, though, they call them chips, but don’t ask me why.”
Casey sat on the edge of the mattress, a stern get-on-with-it look on his face.
“He was going to take me dancing at a bar down the road from the restaurant, but then I got distracted by this bridge with padlocks all over it, and Bradley walked me over and explained that they were love locks and couples added their own lock to the bridge as a sign of their love for each other. It was romantic . . .” Casey raised a brow, and I rolled my eyes. “Then he started dancing with me, we talked, then he kissed me. It was nice.”
Casey’s face softened, and his eyes got that dreamy look he got when he was thinking of Lionel. “Just nice?”
“Ummm . . . amazing?”
He flopped down beside me. “Only amazing?”
“Out of this world, the best kiss I’ve ever had?”
Casey sighed. “Okay, okay, this kiss was panty melting, and you’re in lust. So, what I really need to do here is threaten to unman Bradley with the removal of his scruffies if he does wrong by you.”
“What’s a jiblet?”
Casey huffed. “A man’s coin purse?” I shook my head wondering if Casey had taken some sort of medication with his water. “Ball bag? Nut sac?”
“Ohhhhhhh,” I exclaimed with wide eyes. “Why the heck didn’t you just say balls?”
“Balls is so childish. Seriously, what are we, five?”
I spluttered out a laugh thinking exactly the same thing but for much different reasons.
“You don’t think he would treat me right?” I asked a little surprised.
Casey leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Of course he would, you are a treasure, but it’s my job to make sure he realizes just how special a treasure you are. Don’t worry, my Cupid mojo worked just fine on Decker and Andi.”
“You really don’t have to play Cupid. I mean, he lives here in the UK, and I live in the US. And he doesn’t like my job.”
“Semantics.” Casey waved my concerns off. “And if things got serious, Bradley would move back to the States, and I know you’d stop the porn like Brittany Spears stopped her sanity.”
“Firstly, I don’t think he’d move back to America so easily. He seems content here; he has his job. And I happen to like my job. What makes you think I’d give it up so easily?”
Casey huffed loudly and indignantly. “He’s a spy; he can work from anywhere. And you don’t love porn; it’s just a job. I know you really want a knight in shining armor to come in and sweep you off your back.”
“HE’S A SPY?” I squealed, ignoring the knight sweeping me off my back jab. “How did you find that out?”
“I’m merely guessing, but he’d make a great James Bond, don’t you think.” Casey grinned, and I shook my head.
“He’s not ‘good guy’ enough for Bond. I thought he might be a thief.”
“Ohhhh, good one,” Casey said with animated excitement as he pointed at me. “He’s got that whole Stephen Amell, Green Arrow thing going on. I wonder if he’s into archery,” Casey pondered.
“Okay, I thought you were bringing me coffee?” Lionel said from the hallway, and both Casey and I glanced over the back of the couch. Lionel stood with his hair suitably mussed and a glow to his cheeks. He was wearing plaid pajamas with soft looking slippers as he stared at Casey with his hands on his hips.
“Bradley and Wiska kissed,” Casey blurted out.
Lionel’s eyes just about bugged out, and he took what appeared to be an excited step forward before stilling, his face twisting into one of concern. “Did you want him to kiss you? Did he take advantage of you?”
I sighed. I wasn’t used to the protective blanket Lionel and Casey liked to cloak me with, but I could easily admit to liking it. “No, I pretty much shoved my tongue down his throat.”
Lionel grinned before leaning against the back of the couch and giving Casey a look that was something akin to happiness and disappointment.
“I guess this means you’re staying.”
I glanced between the two of them with a raised brow.
“What do you mean? Where were you going?” I asked confused.
Lionel’s attention crossed back to me, and the disappointment was gone. “We talked last night about going home. We’re confident you would be okay on your own for a while longer.”
“You’re leaving?” I squeaked.
It was ridiculous. I mean, I knew Lionel and Casey couldn’t hold my hand forever, but they had become the sturdy shoulders I needed to lean on since the day they had stumbled across me balling my eyes out in Andi’s bookstore. They had swept in like a tornado of dazzling color, and somehow, in all that neon and glitter, I had found my own resolve and strength. Their life in the US had been put on hold while they gathered my sorry excuse for a life up and whisked me off to the UK.
“Lionel’s brother and wife have been looking after LC’s, but they can’t stay any longer than a few more days.”
Guilt reached out and slapped me like the selfish cow I was. LC’s was Lionel and Casey’s pet grooming and day spa, and while their family was doing their best to keep things running for them, I was bouncing around in my own self-absorbed bubble of pity without so much as a thought to what they had both given up over the last month to make sure I was alright.
“You know, you should both go back. I’m fine here. I can totally handle Bradley.”
Casey rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh, and the next thing we know you’ll be bouncing on sexy-scowly’s womb-broom and walking away with fresh tears on your face because he does something typically guy-like and breaks your pretty heart. No way, José. I’m staying.” Casey crossed his arms, stubborn resolve set in his features.
“I can take care of myself. It might surprise you, but I’m not a child anymore.”
“Yes, but if you and Bradley are going to court, we would both feel better if one of us stayed for moral support,” Lionel said calmly.
“Court?” I scoffed. “Did I just bump my head and wake up in the eighteenth century?”
“It’s okay, Wiska. It was my suggestion Casey stay a couple more weeks until you were ready to go. And you know the saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder?” Lionel gave me a cheeky wink before his gaze drifted lazily to Casey. “I expect my man to return missing me A LOT.”
Casey suddenly sprang out of my bed and grabbed Lionel’s hand, practically dragging him down the hallway to their room. “I’m going to help my man pack,” he called out. “But don’t come in for at least twenty-five minutes; you might see the kind of packing that will scar you for life.”
I snickered as I rolled to my back. The sound of their door slamming shut left me feeling a little lonely, but there was no way I was peeking in their room for at least half an hour, maybe forty minutes just to be safe.
“Which one is your favorite?” I whispered, feeling a little awestruck.
I was rubbing my wrist, and I couldn’t stop. The cast, which had been there for the last month, was gone, and good riddance to it! My wrist felt weird, though, almost foreign, hence the reason I couldn’t keep my fingers off it.
Casey snorted. “Not one of them has pubes. Just the thought of getting it on with any one of them makes me feel like a dirty, old perv.”
I sighed for what was likely the tenth time and took what had to be my fifteenth selfie in front of One Direction. It wasn’t the real One Direction; it was the wax version housed in Madam Tussauds Wax Museum. I didn’t care, though. The wax looked pretty darn real to me.
“Can we go look at something else now?” Casey begged. He tugged me in the direction of Marilyn Monroe and proceeded to have me take pictures of him in several different poses with what was clearly one of his idols. “A wise girl knows her limits, but a smart girl knows that she has none.”
“Oh, I like that,” I confessed, and Casey grinned.
“Sometimes, good things fall apart so better things can fall together.”
I turned and stared at the wax statue with a little more respect. “She said that?”
“That, and my personal favorite: ‘Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.’”
“I think I’m a little in love with her.”
Casey sighed. “Me too. I’d almost dabble in vag for Miss M.”
I couldn’t help but laugh loudly at Casey’s confession. “Sweetie, there is no way you could do straight; you’re as gay as a box of birds.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult,” he murmured as we approached a wax figure of Elton John. Casey sighed again. “Okay, Lionel’s panties will be in a serious twist when he realizes he missed this.”
Casey jumped in beside Elton and posed while I took a picture, but as he moved away, a sedate calmness seemed to wash over him, his mood suddenly somber.