Bay

I’m laughing my ass off and shaking it to the beat of some sappy loser singing about the first time she ever saw some idiot’s face when I feel a pair of arms surround me and enfold me to a chest that is hard, packed with muscles, and smells like heaven.

I tense, not wanting to do this shit at Kim’s wedding and turn, fully intending to shove Jefferson away when he looks down at me and grins.

See, this is why the man just isn’t right for me! He is always laughing and happy no matter how many times I’ve seen people shoot him down, myself included.

He plays at being sad and downhearted, but it never sticks because Jefferson Jones just doesn’t have what it takes to be angry on the inside. I wish to God he did, then resisting him wouldn’t be an issue because I wouldn’t have to consider that I could hurt him.

I stay away from him for exactly that reason, and no matter how my vagina cries out against me, I have been strong for the last two years, give or take a month or two.

I want him. Jesus, I still remember what sex with him is like and trust me, once you’ve had that level of perfect it is not easy to walk away from it.

The man is hung. He’s sexy. He worships a woman in bed. He made me orgasm three times in one session. Need I say more?

But he’s also one of those irresistible types who fully accept themselves and isn’t afraid to show emotion, and for me, that is a no-go zone.

“Jones, you need to move on man,” I tell him, keeping my voice devoid of all emotion which usually isn’t hard at all but is almost impossible with Jefferson.

With this man I want to rail and scream and even laugh because he’s funny and sweet and cute. I can’t though. I won’t. I am who I am, and I don’t like that with him I want to be who I should be.

It’s not that I am miserable. Most people assume that this mask I wear is because inside I’m unhappy and not at all content with life. They couldn’t be more wrong. I love my life.

I work with my three sisters planning quick weddings that cost a packet because of how phenomenal they are, I own a great little house, and I have a dog no one knows about because it’s none of their damn business.

I go out all the time and I have friends. I have a lot of friends. Just not the friends anyone would deem normal.

My life rocks but for one thing; I am lonely. Well, not lonely, not in the way most people would assume. I can be content all on my own and most days I am. I guess the right way to say it is that I am lonely for companionship.

I have Ripper, true, but sometimes talking to a dog who doesn’t answer back unless I count him licking his balls, well it’s not exactly perfect. Most guys I hang with–not always for sex–tend to be with me because they want to talk about what it’s like with Bay Brady, not to be with me.

I never sleep with those assholes, I only string them along before scaring the shit out of them. The rest are just lonely guys, people like me who don’t want commitment or anything more than a few hours of sharing warm bodies.

Most days I’m okay with that but on days like today when I remember every moment of my night with Jefferson, the laughter, the talking–all mostly him–I feel myself want to take more.

He’s offering, God he’s always around offering me that magic again, and I am so tempted to take it sometimes I find myself outside his house just sitting in my car before I know what I’m doing. One time I actually rang his doorbell and almost stood there waiting for him before common sense prevailed.

I still cringe just thinking about the mad dash I made to my car and the ensuing hour I spent in a bar trying to alcohol scrub the shame off me.

“Brady, I adore you and the only place I’m moving is on, with you,” he smiles, making me want to slap him and kiss his handsome face.

“Dammit, haven’t you had enough rejection?” I grate, struggling valiantly to keep my emotions in check while the ass just smiles and spins me, dipping me low to bring me back up to his chest.

He’s so freaking handsome it hurts to look at him and not go Dirty Dancing on his hot body, which is why I always stay as far away as I can. All that dark hair, the eyes that are a contrasting shade of hazel browns and blues that make his eyes look magical, as if they don’t belong to a human man.

The night we spent together I was just drunk enough not to feel embarrassed for staring into his eyes the whole time. I find myself wanting to do it now, just meet his gaze and fall into it.

Bad Bay! Buck up schmuck! Remember the last time you got this happy with the man, you almost considered the whole package with the six babies included.

I sneer at my inner voice and school my face while Jones just smiles and keeps swaying with me.

“Rejection can only happen so many times and besides, I know you want me little Brady, you’re just too stubborn to admit it. My other friends have all locked up your sisters, it’s my turn now,” he crows as if he’s just been waiting for the others to fall before coming after me.

“You can kiss my ass,” I say, putting as much drone into my tone as I can manage when I’m breathless from his hand clamped to my hip so close to my ass.

He grins, his eyes sparkling and licks his lips while I keep my eyes on his. Fucking asshole is waaaay too good looking for my peace of mind and what’s worse; he knows I crave his hot body.

I’ve tried telling him over and over again that I don’t care, but we both know it’s a lie. I want him, maybe even more than I did the first time because now I know what it’s like to have his mouth on me.

“I’ve already kissed your ass, Brady. And your front and all the delicious parts in between,” he purrs with a self-satisfied smile that has my blood pressure rising.

Anger! It’s all anger I tell myself, swallowing when he dips me again and brings me up so close to his mouth I can taste his minty breath.

I do not wanna kiss him. No! Nuh-uh. Absolutely not, I tell my lips when they purse, almost inviting him to taste them.

“Jones, seriously let’s just be real here, man, I am not your girl and you are not my guy,” I huff, on the verge of losing my temper now.

What’s it gonna take to make this man move on? I’ve insulted him, embarrassed him in front of his friends, I’ve even spray painted his house with the words “dude magnet.”

I’ve avoided him, pretended he doesn’t exist when we’re in the same company. I’ve done everything that is guaranteed to make him run hard the other way and keep going, and yet he’s still here, still got his eyes on me, and if Sully can be believed he hasn’t been laid since the night we were together.

Me, I’ve bounced a few times since then, but no matter how much I try, I haven’t ever met another man who can make me feel the way Jones does. And that’s the problem right there.

I don’t want to feel all this stuff. I want to go back to looking at the world through jaded eyes and keeping myself apart from it all. I like being apart because it means that I don’t have to risk being…normal.

I just don’t like it okay, and yeah, I know that’s a weird reason to scare people half to death with my eccentricities, but I don’t care. I learned early on in life that disappointment can only touch you when you let it, so I live my life never expecting anything, and voila, I am happy.

And now here he comes, again, trying to make me want more and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

“I am your guy and you are my girl, and you may not want to believe it but it’s true, Brady. You adore me. You like having my eyes on you all the time. You love it when I get aggressive with all those assholes who try to get near you, and you know that no matter what happens, I ain’t leaving,” he says, smiling when I let off a muffled shriek and stop just shy of stomping his foot.

“There is something wrong with you, man,” I mutter, catching my breath when he lets his hand slip lower to the curve of my ass, his index finger stroking over the place where my ass cheeks meet.

I feel my breasts swell, the nipples going hard and tight, and my sex whimpers as heat sets in and starts a pulsing throb in my clit. I want sex, with him, now.

It’s all I can think as he leans down closer and whispers right into my ear.

“I still have your panties, Brady. They don’t smell like you anymore, but I sleep with them on my pillow every single night.”

God, that is so weird it turns me on and has my body yelling for him.

“That’s gross,” I force myself to say, hating that I have to say it while loving that he shrugs as if he doesn’t care.

God, this man would be so perfect if not for all his feelings! Why God? Why couldn’t you just make him a little less sensitive, I rail while licking my lips and shivering in his arms.

“I used to sniff them while I jerked off, and carry them in my pocket, just to have a piece of you with me, Brady. I had to stop when my housekeeper started doing my laundry, but I take them out every night,” he whispers, sending goosebumps down my spine.

“Jones–”

“You could give me a fresh pair, Brady, and I promise to stop watching you for a whole day,” he says, teasing me with the forbidden element of doing something like that.

It turns me on even more thinking of sliding my panties off and giving them to him, the wet arousal that coats them touching his face while he uses them to pleasure himself.

I’m so caught up in the image of Jones with his cock in his hand, coming as he sniffs my underwear I almost miss what he says next.

“Do you remember what I taste like, Brady?”

God yes, I won’t ever forget I think, squeezing my legs together when the urge to push myself into his hardness becomes overwhelming. I can’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to feel him against me.

I remember the night we were together. People, hell even Jones thinks I was drunk and that’s why I finally threw him a bone, but the truth is I was sober enough to know I couldn’t resist anymore, and I didn’t want to.

We did everything that night, just a few hours, but it was packed with every dirty fantasy I ever had. He ate me out until I was almost crazy with pleasure and then dominated me while I sucked him off, swallowing everything he gave me.

I remember the smell and taste, and the way he felt when he filled me up and made love to me. It was slow and sweet and dirty and fast and so good that even now I would give just about anything to have him.

If I knew I could do that without an attachment or without him wanting more I would, but that isn’t going to happen. Jones has been following me around and panting after my dumb ass for years and the likelihood of that ever stopping is so slim it’s non-existent.

Too bad, because I do believe that if we ever were together again it would be better than the last time.

“Stop. This isn’t going to work.”

“No? Then why are you breathing heavily? Why can smell you? Why are you so turned on I can see your nipples through the dress?” he asks smugly, grinning when I have to force my face back into its devoid mask. “Admit it, Brady, you want me so bad you’re on the edge of moaning right now.”

“Screw you,” I hiss, struggling to keep myself under control.

I don’t know what’s worse, wanting him so much he can see it or the bigger part of me not caring that he can see.

“I would walk over hot coals for that to happen, babe, but since you’re not ready, I’d lose a limb for just a dance.”

“I am dancing with you!”

“You’re letting me drag you around. Where’s the romance, Brady?”

“Up your ass.”

“Nah, that’s bullshit. The romance is all dead because you refuse to give a little.”

“Give what? Some sex?” I ask, almost wheedling because I would walk over hot coals for just some sex.

Jesus, is it so unreasonable of me just to want some no strings sex with him? I don’t think so, and yet he won’t give unless I agree to more. The man is driving me crazy over here, and I’d have assumed that two years would either have him hard enough to cave or walk away and leave me in peace.

He smiles knowingly and shakes his head, tsking at me like I’m a child he needs to school.

“For shame, Brady! Here I am, just a man standing in front of a woman asking her to give a little more emotion, and you’re looking at my hot man’s body like it’s a piece of meat,” he chides.

My mouth twitches and I come this close to laughing because he’s always funny. Always. Even at Dee’s wedding when he started slow dancing around me, pretending to cry when I rejected his advances, I wanted to laugh.

That’s what Jefferson Jones does to me. He makes me want to show joy. Dammit.

“You know, you totally just misquoted Notting Hill,” I point out, getting a crooked grin and a chuckle.

“You watched it? Why, Brady, are you telling me that within that stone-cold breast beats the heart of a romantic?” he gasps.

I almost giggle at the width his eyes stretch and huff, turning my face away because I can’t look at the man and not smile. It’s what he is that is so freaking irresistible. Happy.

Jones is happy all the time. I saw him running on the pavement a few days ago in the middle of the rain to help a little old woman put her groceries in her trunk, and he smiled the whole time.

I don’t know that Jones is even capable of not being happy and I don’t ever want to take that away from him. I just don’t know if I can give him what he wants and still see the irrepressible smile on his face.

“You’re a fool,” I utter, snorting with mirth when he leans down and whispers softly.

“For you Brady. I’m a fool for you.”