Chapter Four
SHANNON
Eighteen months ago
This boy was a savage.
The door to my cottage wasn’t even closed and Will had my face pressed flat to the wall while he stripped me to my bra and panties. And he didn’t waste any time thrusting that bulge against my ass, reminding me that he’d do the fucking.
Will’s fingers flicked over my back and my lacy B-cup bra was gone, along with the bangles on my wrist. He curled one finger around the side of my panties, and it was enough to send them drifting down to my ankles. From there, his hands spread out, shifting until he was holding me in place with one hand on the small of my back and the other tangled in my hair.
What the hell was I thinking? Kissing him. Bringing him back to my cottage. Having an admittedly hurried birth control and STD conversation at the door. Promising we’d never burden Lauren with the events of this evening. Letting him strip me naked. And it wasn’t like I could avoid him tomorrow. I could try, but…oh, fuck, his mouth was on the back of my neck.
He licked every inch of my neck and shoulders but it was his rough chin that had me panting and arching my back to feel more of his erection. That sharp scruff awakened every nerve, and I couldn’t stop a shiver from vibrating through me.
Right, right, now I remembered why I was doing this: I was thinking my last decent orgasm occurred in my twenties.
“Be a good little cock tease and stand still until I tell you to move,” he growled in my ear.
What did he say to me?
I was outraged and insulted and ready to shove his commando ass out the door. Regardless of whether I’d fulfilled my commitment to Lauren or not, I didn’t put up with shit like this. I could survive on inadequate orgasms. I preferred my men civilized, thank you very much.
“You’re such an arrogant asshole,” I said, and those words weren’t halfway out of my mouth when his hand cracked over my ass. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of the moan his touch garnered, but I was powerless to swallow it when his hand coasted over my backside and between my legs.
“I’m gonna keep that smart mouth of yours busy,” he said. He edged my feet apart and we groaned in unison—loud, needy, and unhinged—when his thick fingers circled my clit.
No one had ever—ever—spoken to me that way before.
The sounds of his belt unlatching and his fly unzipping crawled over my skin and burrowed, frantic and urgent, in my muscles. He guided his cock against my folds, his breath shuddering on my neck. He leaned into me, his throbbing length right up against my ass, and said, “Now I’m going to show you what it means to be fucked.”
“You talk a really big game,” I said as his fingers speared inside me and his thumb came down on my clit. “It’s actually very cute but—” Oh, those fingers. I wasn’t capable of sustaining cogent arguments when those fingers were moving in and out and everywhere, and why, why, why couldn’t the men I’d met through online dating have this kind of dexterity?
Will bit his way up my shoulder, chuckling. “You were saying something?”
That conceited bastard.
“I was saying your technique is awkward at best.”
He pulled away, and the absence of his imposing warmth—and fingers—left me aching. Tossing him the most hateful glare I could conjure, I pivoted, completely impervious to the fact that I was naked in five-inch wedges and trembling with want.
His hand was gliding up and down that beautiful beast of a cock, and my tongue darted out to gather the drool that was about to spill from my parted lips. I glanced up to find him watching me, and I knew he saw every one of my hungry, dirty thoughts as if they were scrawled across my body like subtitles.
“Does your pussy taste as good as it looks?” Will asked.
I tossed my hair over my shoulder and folded my arms under my (very bare) breasts. “Better,” I said. “But it’s not like you’re ever going to find out.”
He chuckled. “I think you’re wrong about that.”
A smile pulled at Will’s lips and he inclined his head. He was goading me, and as I yanked his t-shirt over his head and palmed his cock, I didn’t care that I’d taken his bait. I was vaguely aware of tattoos and scars, instead focusing on the imprint of his scent and getting rid of his jeans. I ran my nails over his chest and legs, scratching his tanned skin and soothing those marks with my tongue.
“You’ve tested enough of my patience, Shortcake,” he said, his hands sliding to my hips. He lifted me, set me on the bed, and crawled over me, his cock dragging along my leg like a threat.
“Don’t fucking call me that,” I said, my legs winding around his waist.
I tried to force him closer to me, to find some friction, but he wrapped one giant paw around my wrists and pinned my thigh to the mattress with the other. This asshole was under the impression he was calling the plays.
“But it suits you,” Will said. His hand shifted from my leg to stroke his cock as he gazed at me for a slow, heavy minute. “And you’re too pretty for Firecrotch.”
“You’re a prick,” I groaned. His hips snapped forward and the bed creaked beneath us as he pushed into me. He was so much bigger than I expected, and my mind was quickly numbing to anything but the pleasure surging through my body. He was tearing me apart, thrust by thrust, and I wanted to do the same to him.
“Stop talking, Shortcake,” he said. “You’re ruining this for me.”
The headboard knocked against the wall in a harsh rhythm, as if he was trying to fuck me into the next room. Each time he drove into me, my eyes rolled back in their sockets, and I was convinced I was about to combust, but that didn’t prevent me from getting in some taunts. “Not much to ruin,” I said.
“All this talking makes me think you need a dick in your mouth,” he murmured.
He pumped in and then fully out, and it only took a flick of his wrist to flip me on my stomach and yank my ass in the air. I heard his hand connecting with my backside before I felt it, and when I did, the only thing I could think was hot. I was so hot, so hungry for his rough touch, and so, so close. I moaned—and it was a straight-up whore moan; no polite virginal sighs or gasps here—into the quilt, my hands fisting in the fabric.
“Now do us both a favor and stop talking,” Will said.
He pushed inside me and I knew right then I’d be leaving a puddle of drool on this quilt. I couldn’t stop the desperate cries and hushed pleas for more, more, more, yes just like that. He wrapped a hand around my hip and another in my hair, and then pulled just enough to send spasms through my body. A quick burst of light cascaded behind my eyes as I came, and despite Will’s hold on me, I dropped like a stone. A happy, satiated stone with a savage on her back.
“What was that?” he asked. He didn’t stop thrusting. He went right on rocking over every tender, pulsating inch of me.
“An orgasm,” I said into the blankets. “Surely you’ve encountered more than your own, commando.”
“If that was an orgasm, it was a pathetic one,” he said, his arm snaking around my waist and hiking me up.
I looked over my shoulder at Will, horrified. “Did you just insult my orgasm?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Now get your little ass over here. You can do better.”
Of course this asshole wasn’t finished. “And what are you getting out of this?”
He bent me over the edge of the bed, my feet not even touching the ground as he moved in me. “If you have to ask,” he grunted, “you’ve been doing it all wrong.”
I had no leverage in this position, no capacity to steer his movements or change the pace, and I did not want to like that. Being in control was my thing.
Will’s hand settled between my shoulder blades, anchoring me in place. “Would you just chill out?” he asked, each word punctuated with a long, dragging thrust. “You have to relax, baby.”
“I’m not your baby.” The stirrings of another orgasm started building in my belly, and as much as I wanted to tell Will to fuck off, that was not the way the words were falling out of my mouth at this moment. “Ohhh,” I gasped. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…Will.”
“Shannon,” he panted, forcing me deeper into the mattress. “Please. Please just let me make it good for you.”
I really wanted to tell him to fuck off, and for no other reason than to banish that starved tone from his voice. I knew he’d been deployed for a long time, and logically I knew he probably wasn’t getting much ass on the battlefield, but as far as I was concerned, this was a baggage-free hook-up. Emotions need not get involved.
“Fuck,” I moaned, my teeth closing around the quilt beneath me. I couldn’t decide what to feel, what to think. Multiple orgasms belonged with urban legends like delicious fat-free frozen yogurt and comfortable high heels. The only thing that made sense was screaming into the mattress as heat poured down my spine, around my legs, and unfurled in my center. “Oh, oh, fuck.”
I expected the warm fluttering to pass quickly—after all these years, I knew what to expect from my body—but it didn’t stop. It expanded until every limb was consumed with hot, sweet bliss. It was overwhelming and nearly painful, and I didn’t have anywhere for all this sensation to go so I kept on moaning into that quilt.
“That’s a little better,” Will said. He was moving faster now, his hips slapping against my ass while the bed grunted, and the headboard barreled against the wall.
Talk about stamina. He just did not stop.
“You’re going to break the bed,” I mumbled.
“I can accept collateral damage.” His hand shifted from my back to cup my chin, and he angled my head to the side. “Suck,” he ordered, two fingers pressed to my lips.
My eyes drifted shut and I did as he said, and I didn’t even have a quippy comeback for him. My mind and body were consumed by the electricity coursing through me, and it seemed plausible that I’d drown in my own release.
“Open.” Will’s fingers left my mouth, and in their place, he left a biting kiss. “Let’s see about that orgasm now.”
I tried to protest, to explain that we were well past the point of teeth-numbing orgasm, but that would have required more than guttural babble. He continued pumping into me, panting, and whispered, “I told you that you could do better. Keep going, pretty girl, you got this.” I nodded, too boneless to form words, and he bit my earlobe. “Good. So good. You’re so good. Think you can give me a little more?”
I nodded again, and he growled as he slammed into me. His fingers shifted to my clit and nothing would ever be the same again. There was no way I could absorb all of this, and I couldn’t take this much at once. These sensations—his cock, his fingers, his mouth on my neck, his roared release—they engulfed me, and then, then I fell apart.
As if he knew I needed something to hold me together, Will wrapped his arms around me and held me while I gasped and shook. We were still bent over the bed and he was still inside me, twitching and setting off tiny orgasmic land mines, and minutes passed before the stars faded from behind my eyes.
“That was good,” he murmured against my neck. “It takes you a little while to warm up, but you are not bad at this, Shortcake.”
“You were on-par with my vibrator,” I said. Total lie. All the vibrators couldn’t destroy me the way Will did, but he didn’t need to know that. “Completely adequate.”
Will laughed and tugged my earlobe between his teeth. “I’d like to meet that vibrator,” he said. The air conditioner switched on, and I shivered when the blast of cool air hit the fine sheen of sweat on my skin. He pulled out, smacked my ass, and tossed me to the middle of the bed. The bastard actually tossed me.
“You can go now,” I snapped, finger-combing my hair from my face.
Will paid no attention to me, and instead of getting dressed, he kicked off his jeans from where they were bunched at his ankles. He sauntered toward the bathroom, and I listened, fuming, while the faucet ran. He returned with a glass of water and he shot a cocky grin in my direction.
“I said, you can go now.”
Will flopped down beside me with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not going to do that.”
He pried the blanket away from my chest and brought his lips to my nipple, and my annoyance with him started dissolving into the background.
I dug my hands through his hair, angling him where I wanted and yanking him back to remind him he wasn’t the only one in charge. His teeth closed around me, and the sound I made—God help me, it was shameful—was one part sob, one part screech, one part newborn kitten mewl, all whore.
Will released my nipple with a gentle kiss and stared at me for a long beat. It gave me a moment to study his tattoos: a frog skeleton on his bicep, and an anchor crossed with a trident over his heart. They were tastefully done but I didn’t love tattoos; just not my style. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember being with an inked guy. But Will’s were nice. Different. Intriguing. Maybe even sexy.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Will said, breaking me out of my thoughts. “I’m going to fuck you a couple more times, Shortcake. Teach you a few things about real orgasms. If that goes well, we’ll talk about rope.”
“Don’t call me Shortcake,” I warned.
He dropped his forehead to my belly and laughed. “But you’re good with the orgasms and rope?”
I shrugged. There was no way in hell I’d let anyone tie me up. “Like I said, you talk a big game. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“In that case…” Will pounced on me, sucking my other nipple into his mouth while he hardened against my thigh.
Then we heard a tremendous crack and the right side of the bed buckled beneath us. Will locked his arm around my waist as the bed teetered on a steep angle, and before we could move, the other side of the bed crumbled, too.
“That means we’re doing it right,” he said, and I laughed against his chest.
We broke the bed that night.
And the side table.
And the desk.
And the complimentary bathrobe belts, which that fucker definitely used to tie me up.
And that was all on top of trashing a bar.
*
I didn’t believe in avoiding issues. My philosophy leaned toward grabbing those issues by the balls and twisting until I made them my bitches. Sure, it sounded severe, but avoidance only left problems out to rot until they were too obnoxious to ignore anymore.
But I was avoiding Will like it was my reason for being.
It wasn’t about after-the-fact awkwardness; I didn’t believe in that either. No, it was about him pushing every one of my buttons and driving me to homicidal urges. He was rude and narrow-minded, and I didn’t intend to start another feminist debate on my best friend’s wedding day.
And his cock turned me into a dumb, drooling orgasm factory.
Nope, none of that had a spot at Matt and Lauren’s nuptials.
Of course, I wasn’t able to avoid Will or his shenanigans when it came to the post-ceremony photographs. It was as if the photographer knew exactly what we did last night and she thought, Now this would be an awesome way to mess with people and capture it on film. She parked me and Will together in every group shot, and repeatedly instructed us to “squeeze a bit closer.”
I subtly flipped the photographer off every time, and it seemed she, and everyone else, was oblivious to my discomfort.
Sam was still drunk.
Nick was asking Erin every conceivable question about Portugal.
Riley was flirting with the photographer’s assistant.
Andy and Patrick were having another one of those silent conversations I’d ignored for months. I thought they were glaring at each other. Turned out it was foreplay. Who knew?
Matt and Lauren were busy being the happiest people in the world, and a tiny, tiny fraction of me wanted this to be mine. For a split second, I wanted all of this, but more than the beachside ceremony, pink wedding dress, and champagne everywhere, someone who saw only me.
Someone who adored me.
“Squeeze in!” the photographer called.
Will’s hand curled around my hip, drawing me closer to his hard body, and annoyance quickly replaced my jealousy. “Paws to yourself, commando.”
“Relax, buttercup.”
That voice was right in my ear, and it sounded exactly the same as when he was too deep inside me for my brain to function. Like I meant something to him. Like he wanted to mean something to me. Like all of this was more than one wild night.
Manipulative fucking orgasms.
“We are not doing this,” I said, and then I thought better of it. We were both here for another night, right? “Not right now.”
“Always so serious.” He rocked against me, and I felt every inch of him, half-hard against my back. “How are you in a bad mood after last night? You enjoyed it. You enjoyed it six or seven times. I know. I was there.”
“You’re an arrogant asshole,” I whisper-hissed. “My heels are bigger than your dick, and accomplish far more.”
“Hmm,” he said. His finger trailed between my exposed shoulder blades while the photographer switched lenses. We were on the far end of the group and close enough together so no one noticed his hand shifting from my hip to cup my ass over the layers of floaty mint green chiffon. “You phrased it differently last night.”
I didn’t respond because he was right about that, yet his cock didn’t need another vote of confidence from me.
“Just one more,” the photographer said. “Squeeze in super tight.”
Will’s fingers brushed down my back as the photographer clicked away, and I knew I’d be the fool grinning with her eyes closed in every one of these shots. If there was any possibility of disappearing from this reception and letting those fingers finish what they were starting, I would have snapped it right up.
But that wasn’t happening. Not for me, not tonight. My brother and my best friend were getting the best goddamn reception I could conjure, and if that meant sacrificing some screeching orgasms, I’d survive. All told, I sacrificed more than my share of screeching orgasms for my family.
“Perfect,” the photographer said. “Now, bride and groom only.”
I huffed out a sigh of relief and stepped forward, but Will’s hand tightened around my dress. “Not so fast, Shortcake.”
“Would you shove the Shortcake up your ass, please?” That fucking nickname. Did he think he was the first person to call me Strawberry Shortcake? Or Pippi Longstocking? Or Little Orphan Annie? I’d heard every tired, unoriginal redhead nickname known to man, and the only less-inventive names he could throw at me would be Red or Freckles.
“You really need to loosen up,” he said. “Why don’t you let me help you with that?”
“Why don’t you suck my dick?” I asked, my elbow landing on his stomach. I heard a soft grunt behind me, and this time, he didn’t protest when I marched away.
It was obvious things were not going according to plan when I arrived at the reception area, and it was a good thing I pressed pause on today’s showing of Orgasm Hour with Will. The bar line stretched all the way across the tent, there were no appetizers on the tables, and the band was still setting up. ‘Tyrant’ would be a fair assessment of my behavior when I stormed into the kitchen.
The next couple of hours flew by in a blur. I missed dinner entirely and didn’t catch much of the first dance, cake cutting, or bouquet toss, but the inn staff that I deputized was finally keeping things running on schedule. For a minute there, I almost got behind the bar and handled service myself. It was days like this that convinced me I’d be able to pull off a successful jewel heist if I set my mind to it.
I shuffled toward the bar, my feet aching and my body too tightly strung with tension to register my exhaustion. With a glass of champagne in hand, I counted heads. Matt and Lauren were circling the dance floor. Sam was getting drunker. Riley was grinding on Lauren’s mother—she was getting a kick out of it, thankfully. Patrick was still moping. Erin was seated at a far table with Andy and Lauren’s brother Wes, and I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved Erin was still here or concerned that she was telling them all our ugly secrets.
Nick waved as he approached the bar, and I responded with a chin lift. Too damn tired for words.
He tapped his beer bottle against my champagne glass and slung an arm around my shoulder. “One hell of a party, Shan. When are we doing this again?”
I dropped my head to his chest and sighed. “Beats the shit outta me.”
A laugh rumbled through Nick’s chest, and he said, “Let’s run the line up.”
Everything was a sports metaphor to Nick, and if a slot opened up on the Red Sox or Patriots coaching staff, he’d leave pediatric neurosurgery behind in a heartbeat.
He pointed his beer bottle toward Riley, who was dirty dancing all by himself now that Lauren’s parents were headed back to their room. “He’s still on the farm team, and not moving up to the majors any time soon.” He pointed toward the opposite side of the tent where Sam and Patrick were standing together. “Now those two…definitely in the majors, but their stats are inconclusive. Outliers. We need to watch the season play out.”
“You don’t think it’s going to work out with Andy?”
Nick shrugged. “It probably will work out, but I don’t think we’re walking them down the aisle for a few years. He’s cautious. If he gets her back, he’s going to take his time. And she’s young as fuck. She’s in no rush.”
“And what about that one?” I nodded toward Erin.
“Ah, speaking of young as fuck. The free agent,” Nick said. “What’s her story?”
It was what everyone wanted to know: why didn’t I speak to my sister? But there wasn’t one reason. It started as a pebble rippling across a pond, but that ripple turned into a wave and then a tsunami, and everything that used to exist between us was gone.
“What’s your story?” I challenged.
He chuckled and engulfed me in a warm hug. “Diversion. Good tactic.”
Nick’s was an easy comfort, and it came with no expectations. Really, there was nothing there.
We got drunk together last February when I held a Valentine’s Day party at my place, and after everyone left, we made an indescribably awkward (and failed) attempt at hooking up. We blamed it on the liquor and laughed it off as the worst idea ever, but we both knew the truth: we didn’t have enough chemistry to fill a shot glass.
“Sam’s hosting the after-party again,” Nick said. “Are you headed that way?”
I shook my head as I stared at the table where Erin, Andy, and Wes sat. “No,” I said. “Tired.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll make sure the kids behave themselves.”
“You do that,” I mumbled. Nick was good at riding herd. There were times when I wondered whether he was a sheep dog in a past life.
I rounded the bar to grab another bottle of champagne when Nick stepped away. Once the cork was popped, I reached for my glass only to find Will smiling at me from the other side of the counter.
Fuck, he was pretty. It was the wrong word for a man who was undeniably jacked, lethal by training and trade, and into some serious shit in the bedroom but…it was also very right. Those hazel eyes, that sun-streaked hair, the clean-cut, All-American look, the long, lean muscles that felt incredible under my fingers. Pretty was right.
Pretty fucking hot.
He was tanned to the darkest shade of gold imaginable, and seeing it peeking out from his shirtsleeves made me think of his hands on my skin last night. It was almost drool-worthy.
“What’ll it be, commando?”
He stroked his finger and thumb over the scruff on his chin.
Yes, I had beard rash all over my thighs. And some other spots. And yes, it was totally worth it.
Will lifted his brows and swiped his tongue over his upper lip, and it was like a silent directive to drop my panties and fall to my knees.
I was doing neither, but…fuck. A part of me really, really wanted to.
“How’s this going to go, Shortcake?” he asked.