Kye
Chelsey Young has the girliest fucking bathroom I’ve ever seen in my life. The shower curtain has flowers on it. The bath mat is pink. And don’t even get me started on the shelves—I live with a chick and I’ve never seen that many fucking products or creams or whatever the hell they are.
I back slowly out of the bathroom and find her opening the pizza box. She’s got the flashlight shining on it, and when she drops the top of the box down, she tucks her long blond hair behind her ear. It’s only now I notice what she’s wearing—bright red sweatpants that are closer to leggings and a gray hooded sweatshirt.
“You weren’t planning on wearing that to go out with me, were you?”
“No. I was going to wear jeans and boots. But since we’re here, I’m wearing sweats and fuzzy socks. Is that a problem?”
I drop my eyes to her ass. “Not with those sweats. You realize they’re pretty much skintight, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” She exhales a breath that sounds a lot like a sigh. “But they’re fleece-lined and really, really warm.”
“I never said I was complainin’, babe.”
She finally follows my gaze and looks over her shoulder. I chuckle and look up just as she rolls her eyes. “You didn’t have to come over, you know.” She puts a slice of pizza onto a small plate. “I would have asked my neighbor for a candle. Or probably grabbed my Kindle and gone to bed.”
“Liar. You would have played Candy Crush.” I grab a pizza slice and tear a bite off the end, grinning.
She perches on a stool and knocks her foot into my shin. “Shut up.” She looks down, but there’s a smile on her face. “I mean it, though. You didn’t have to do this. Thank you.”
“Are you actually being nice to me?” I raise my eyebrows, and when she glares up at me, I tug on a lock of her hair. “If I left you here in the dark with no hot food after I promised you dinner, I’d be a fuckin’ dick, wouldn’t I?”
“Oh gosh. I feel so much better now,” she retorts dryly, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Someone alert the press—Kye Burke can be a gentleman!”
Fighting my own laughter, I lean forward. “I’ll have you know that my mom raised a gentleman where I’m concerned. Fuck knows where she went wrong with my brothers.”
Chelsey claps her hand over her mouth as she laughs. Her laugh quickly turns to a cough, and I pat her on the back until she’s breathing again. “Couldn’t you have waited until I swallowed?”
My cock twitches, and I bring my eyes to hers. “Swallowed, huh?”
She opens her mouth to reply but quickly closes it again. “Yeah. ‘Swallowed’ was the wrong word.”
I raise one eyebrow. Fuck yes it was the wrong word. Now I’m imagining her . . . well. Swallowing me.
“And it’s still coming.”
I adjust my pants as my dick pushes against them. Fucking hell, Chelsey, stop talking.
“I just need to shut up,” she finally blurts out. “This is so awkward.”
“You’re telling me,” I mutter. I shove the last piece of pizza crust in my mouth, and doing my best to ignore the hardening of my dick, I reach into the bag again. “Will this make it less awkward?” I set a bottle of Jack Daniel’s next to the plate of candles.
Chelsey looks from the bottle to me and shakes her head slowly. She chews, then swallows and focuses on the bottle. “I’m pretty sure adding alcohol to this mix is the worst idea ever.”
“What else do you suggest we do?” I lean against the island, staring at her. “There’s no power, which means no TV and no Wi-Fi to stream Netflix on anything with battery. You’re stuck with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a few rounds of Never Have I Ever. Or you can just take your clothes off and let me fuck you right now.”
She chokes again and bangs her fist into her chest. With watery eyes, she meets my gaze. “I’m sorry?” she squeaks out.
Lightning illuminates the apartment, and my lips curve up at her wide-eyed expression. “You heard me, babe,” I say in a low voice, keeping our gazes locked. “Jack and a drinking game or we fuck.”
Her tongue darts over her lips. “You can’t fool me, Kye. I know that the alcohol and drinking game are an unnecessary prelude to the sex you’re obviously planning on having.”
“So you’re sayin’ we can skip the game and get straight to it?”
She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and hesitantly turns her attention to the bottle. The candlelight flickering against the glass casts a hazy glow over her, and she takes a deep breath. I can see her thinking it over.
“No,” she finally says, turning back to me and tilting her head to the side. “Let’s play.” She hops up and grabs the bottle and her plate. “Get the pizza,” she demands, putting her stuff down on the coffee table. She walks back past me and rummages in a couple of cupboards. A packet opens and what sounds like chips are emptied into a bowl.
I grab a second slice of pizza as Chelsey sets down the bowl and a jar of salsa and removes two shot glasses from her pockets. “Prepared,” I note. “Bar training?”
She shoots me a hard look and opens the Jack. The cap clicks as she breaks the seal, and I watch as she pours the two shot glasses to the brim. “Never have I ever been forced into a ridiculous date against my will.”
I take another bite of my pizza. I’ve never been forced into a date. Doing the forcing is my job.
I hold up the last bite of my pizza before eating it. I wonder if she knows what she’s getting herself into with this game. There’s a reason I bought the big bottle of Jack. “Never have I ever . . . been drunk.”
We both take a shot, and she scoffs while she pours the next two. She picks her glass up between her fingers. “Never have I ever . . . had a crush on a teacher.”
Chels follows the shot down with a salsa-loaded chip and pours another one.
She didn’t even fucking wince.
Shit.
We both drink.
“Who’d you have a crush on?” I ask her immediately.
“The science guy in high school. With the glasses,” she admits, grimacing. “You?”
“Miss Baker.” I refill the shot glasses. “She was the only reason I didn’t fail math. I’m pretty sure I never would have showed up senior year if she wasn’t my teacher.”
Chelsey snorts. “I remember her. I think she hated me, and she never had me in her class. She was a bitch.”
“I like bitches.” I grin widely, and she stops, a chip half-dipped into the salsa jar.
“Never have I ever slept with a bitch,” she immediately says.
I bite my tongue and consider this. While my history isn’t as . . . prolific . . . as Tate’s or Aidan’s, there’s definitely a bitch or two in there . . . and so is the most recent one-night stand. As the girl opposite me lifts her lips to one side and glances at my still-full shot glass, I reach for it. Fuck it—Chelsey Young is a bitch. After all, she did arrange the pie to the homecoming queen’s face in senior year. She did make sure the quarterback of Shelton Bay got his ass handed to him by taping half-naked pictures to our lockers that same year after she discovered he was sleeping with a nerd from our science class.
Shit. I’m disinclined to refer to her as a bitch given the fact her bitchy actions have been revengeful.
I guess she just happens to embrace her bitch more than most people.
As proven by the chip that comes flying at my face to the tune of her giggles.
I smack my lips together and wipe the salsa from my cheek. “And that’s why I took the shot.”
Her laughter only increases, and she covers her mouth with her hand, glancing up. “I know.”
“Next,” I demand, putting the bottle back down. The rain transforms to hail once more, and it batters the window, so I raise my voice over the almost deafening sound. “Never have I ever done anal.”
Neither of us moves.
“Never have I ever run through the street naked,” she throws out, following it with a sigh and taking the shot. She puts the glass down and glares at me. “Drink up, hot stuff. I know for a fact you have.”
I wink and drink. “Never have I ever . . . had sex in a public place.”
She purses her lips and takes a swig from the bottle. “Fuck it,” she mutters, pouring a shot after with a tiny wince. “Never have I ever been to a strip club.” When I don’t drink, she frowns at me. “You haven’t?”
“Nope.” I pull my glass toward me, a warm sensation settling in my lower stomach. “Never have I ever performed a sexual act in a car.”
I drink. She doesn’t.
She shrugs. “Never have I ever joined the mile-high club.”
Neither of us drinks.
“Never have I ever kissed a girl.” Obviously, I drink, but I almost spit it out when I see Chelsey down her shot.
“What?” she asks, shuddering and setting the glass down. “I’ve kissed a girl before. It’s not uncommon.”
“All right.” I lean forward, my cock twitching with this information. Is it bad I have a flash of a vision of her making out with a faceless, nameless chick?
Fuck, no. Not at all.
“All right what?” Chels asks. She unzips her hoodie and drops it on the sofa next to her.
“Game-change time.” I take a chip, and, with my mouth full, say, “Truth or Dare. You can refuse to answer or do it, but every time you do, you owe . . . a sexual favor.”
“You’re kidding, right?” she moans. “I’m already more tipsy than I should be for a first date. Never mind a first date in the dark! Who knows what I’ll do if sexual favors are brought into the mix.”
I grin. “I know. Especially when your date has to sleep over.”
She slams her hand into the sofa cushion next to her and frowns at me. “You sneaky little ass wad!”
The subsequent pout of her lips really ruins her supposed anger.
I wiggle my eyebrows, move the pizza box onto the floor, and pour two shots. “Okay, babe. Are you starting this?”
Chelsey pauses, drops her eyes to my pants, and smirks. Or, more accurately, she drops her eyes to the bulge in my pants. I shift and rap my knuckles against the coffee table, pulling her gaze back up.
“Pay attention.”
“I am,” she says sassily, tugging on her tank until just a bit more cleavage shows.
She knows exactly what she’s doing. So do I. Bitch.
“Truth or dare?” she asks.
“Dare.”
She licks her lips again. “I dare you to play this game without your shirt on.”
I shrug and pull it over my head. “Truth or dare?”
Her eyes comb over my torso. “Dare.”
I shoot her dare back at her. She takes a deep breath but pulls her tank off and throws it on top of my shirt on the floor. The dark bra she’s wearing hugs her tits perfectly, pushing them up and together. I want to haul her against me and explore that perfect cleavage.
I opt for a second dare.
Her second one is just as forward. “Take your pants off,” she demands.
I clench my jaw together as I stand and remove my jeans, kicking my shoes off before the denim fully falls from me. “You know that if you want me naked, we don’t have to play, babe. I’m ready for you.”
She grabs a shot glass and downs it. Her blond hair flies, seemingly white in the flash of lightning that fills the room. “Truth,” she says before I can ask her, pouring another shot like she knows she’ll need it.
I edge toward the end of my seat and look her in the eye. “How badly do you want to come over here, pull down my boxers, and ride the fuck out of me right now?”
Her chest visibly heaves, and her inhale is loud enough that I can hear it over the hail still hitting the window. She doesn’t answer.
She drinks.
“Truth or dare,” she asks, her voice scratchy and breathy.
“Dare.”
Her lips part. “You like your dares.”
I want to see how far you’ll go, I want to tell her. I want to see how dirty you’ll make your dares before you’ll answer my question.
“I dare you . . .” she pauses, looking once again at my erection. “I dare you to touch yourself.”
I raise an eyebrow and lay my hand over my cock.
“No,” she whispers. She drags her bottom lip between her teeth. “I dare you to take them off and then do it.”
Tension crackles through the air as it hits me that she just answered my question without me even asking it. And that I’m going to be naked while she’s still pretty much dressed.
She better pick a fuckin’ dare for her next answer.
I lift my hips and pull down my boxers. I make sure to keep my eyes on hers the whole time as I reach down and wrap my fingers around my cock. Chelsey swallows and reaches for a shot again as I slowly stroke myself. “Truth or dare.” I force the words before she can take the glass in her hand.
She pushes her tongue into her cheek, then answers. “Dare.”
I still. “I dare you to remove those fucking sweatpants and come here.”
“That’s two.”
“Look at me and tell me I look like I give a single fuck.”
She agrees with a tilt of her head and stands. Her fingers hook in the sides of her sweats, and my fingers twitch around my erection as she pushes the red pants down her legs to reveal a thin, dark thong. Hesitation stills her, but she peers up through the curtain of hair separating our gazes.
“Here.” My eyes explore her body.
Fuck, she’s sexy.
“I swear to fuckin’ God, Chelsey,” I growl. “Get your damn ass over here right now, because if I have to get up, you’re gonna know about it.”
“I dare you to prove it.” This is said with a sassy, teasing smile and a tiny peal of laughter as she turns.
I yank my boxers up and go after her, snatching her delicate wrist before she runs into her room. She half-screams as I twirl her into the wall and, unable to resist any longer, crush my mouth to hers.
She holds me instantly, her fingers diving into my hair and holding it tightly as our tongues battle each other. Her tiny whimpers are like music to my fucking ears as she arches her back into me.
I pull her away from the wall and back into her front room. She bites the inside of her cheek, breathing heavily from just the kiss, and grabs my waistband as I guide us to the sofa.
“I asked you how badly you want to ride me. You have five seconds to answer before I do it for you.”
Her eyebrows shoot up at the same time she yanks my boxers down. Once again, my cock springs free, and she pushes me onto the couch. I grab her tight ass as she climbs on top of me and looks down, her hair falling around us.
“This badly,” she answers, kissing me and reaching between us.
She tugs her thong to the side, grabs my cock, and pushes herself down on it. I groan as her tight wetness surrounds me. She hisses out a long breath and gets to work.
Her hips grind against me, and heavy, labored breathing is punctuated by desperate kisses. I remove her bra without a single complaint. Each time she drops down onto me she takes me so fucking deeply I’m afraid I’ll come with each movement. It doesn’t take her long to pick up speed, and I groan into her neck while digging my fingers into her ass.
Chelsey’s moans get closer together and her inhales more gasping, and since my body is now tighter than her pussy, I still her hips and slip down an inch so I can drive into her instead.
She cries out as I slam up into her. Her tugs on my hair only egg me on, and I take one of her nipples into my mouth while I fuck her. My balls tighten and it takes everything I have, absolutely fucking everything, to hold it in while she reaches her peak.
When she tips, I let myself go.
Fuck.
I groan as pain slices through my neck and dissipates into my shoulder blades. It feels like someone has removed every bit of muscle in my upper back and replaced it with granite. Once again the subtle feeling of being watched creeps over me and I lift my head toward the kitchen.
Chelsey is leaning against a corner of the counter, a bright red mug in her hands. Her eyes are skirting from me to the television, lingering longer on the glaring screen than on me.
I guess the power’s back on.
I ease myself into a sitting position and wince when my ass cheeks stick to the leather sofa. Of course I’m still fucking naked. Why would I have thought to put my underwear on right after she slammed her bedroom door in my face?
Apparently that’s how she repays a guy for one hell of a damn orgasm: she relegates him to the sofa . . . alone.
I glance around the floor for my boxers, and after finding them halfway under the coffee table, grab them. The sofa cracks as my ass lifts off it, and a tiny scoffing sound travels across the apartment. I cut my eyes to her as my lips quirk into a tiny smile and stand to pull my underwear up.
She keeps her eyes firmly on the TV, but her jaw tightens.
I fold the blanket I slept under before I grab my jeans and put them on. “Mornin’.”
Chelsey sniffs and lifts her mug.
“You got coffee?”
She nods in the direction of the coffee machine and wraps her other hand around her mug.
“Fuck, are you always this happy in the morning, or are you just really damn excited today?”
Finally, she focuses her attention on me. Her eyes narrow, the gray smudges beneath her eyes making them seem darker than normal. “I’m only halfway through my caffeine hit. I suggest you shut up before I show you the real meaning of fucking happiness.”
Fuck me. Chelsey is a damn ogre in the morning.
Yo, Shrek—Fiona escaped, man. Take her back.
I pour a mug of the dark brown liquid from the pot and add two spoons of sugar to it. Then sip.
Chelsey curls her lip, glaring at my mug, then looks away again. “I have to leave for work in forty-five minutes. You should probably drink that and go.”
“Just drink and go, huh?”
“The only reason you didn’t go last night is because Jack got the best of us and the power was still out,” she retorts, straightening. She drains whatever’s left in her mug and slams it down onto the draining board. With a flick of her hair, she stalks past me.
I watch her, sipping my hot coffee slowly. She’s wearing nothing other than a tiny pair of sleep shorts and a tank top. Her tits are just as fucking perky as they were without her bra, and I know she skipped that, because I can see the points of them pressing against the shirt.
“Oh.” She turns by her bedroom door, grabbing onto the frame. I have no idea whether it’s deliberate or not, but the shorts are so fucking short that I can see the damn curve of her ass cheek. “It occurred to me this morning that we were both careless in not using protection last night.” She pauses, and I inhale sharply. “But you should know I haven’t missed a pill in five years. I’m also clean. I’m assuming you are, too.”
“Well . . .” I smirk. “I did shower before I came over.”
“Kye.”
“I was just as drunk as you, but I’d never put you in danger, babe. I’m cleaner than a fuckin’ virgin.” That she could assume even for a second I’d have sex without a condom if I could give her something. Jesus Christ. What the fuck is wrong with the world if that’s even an option?
“Good.” Chels swallows and drops her eyes. After a second, she brings them back up to me. “So. See you.”
With those final words, she slams her bedroom door shut again.
A part of me is itching to stay here, but if she really does have work, I’m just wasting my own damn time. Not that I believe her. Her work shift is clearly a plot to get me out of her apartment . . . but that’s fine. Because she can get me out of her apartment, but she can’t get me out of her life.
After the sex we had last night, I have no fucking intention of letting that happen.