Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
“You spend all your time at work and school… and with that yacht-club-looking dipshit. Admit it, he’s the person you want to learn how to fuck for.”
“You are so off the mark, it’s not even funny!”
“Then why put on the slutty panties today?”
My mouth drops open, anger rushing through me. “How do you know what panties I’m wearing?”
He rolls his eyes.
Rolls. His. Eyes. As if my question is dumb or irrelevant.
I push my chest into his, glaring up at him. “Jess is my friend.”
“Men cannot be friends with you, Davis. There’s no fucking way. And women don’t wear shiny new toys for men they don’t want to fuck.”
“Oh, okay. So, then what, huh?” I snap. “If he and I can’t be friends, I should just offer him the spot in my bed and see what happens?”
Crew growls. Literally growls and presses me into the wall. “Watch your mouth, little girl.”
“Hey, it was your idea,” I sass back. “If you’re not going to take our arrangement seriously, I’ll—”
“You’ll do what?” He speaks through clenched teeth, lowering his head so we’re nearly eye level. “You will do nothing. It’s like you said, we made a deal.” He jabs a finger in his chest. “I decide who, when, maybe even where. Me. Not you or anyone else. You got me?”
I lift my chin in defiance and a deep rumble works its way up his throat.
“I said. Do. You. Got. Me?”
“Yes! I got you. You’re in charge of the cherry, pop it at your pleasure!”
He scoffs, stepping back from me, but only by inches, so with as much added force as I can muster, I knock my shoulder into his with my exit, but again, he’s annoyingly steady on his feet. No part of him budges.
I get a solid, single foot past him when a harsh curse leaves me.
In true Crew fashion, he allows me no farther, gripping my wrist suddenly, then tugging and tucking me back into his chest.
Lips press firmly against my ear, as he speaks in a low, needy rasp, “I lied, Sweets.”
Thrown off, I frown, my heart thumping erratically as I wait for more.
“The panties, they’re not slutty. They’re fire.” His palms lower, latching around my waist for a quick, short squeeze. “And I have no fucking doubt they look even better on.” And then he’s gone.
Me?
I’m a broken faucet, drip, drip, dripping away.
Melting internally after he acted like an ass. A bossy, controlling ass.
What’s that say about me?
Sighing, I lean against the wall, toying with the ice cream pendant necklace locked around my neck.
Yeah, I’m busting out Betty the Boy Toy tonight, and turning the dial to ten.
A thought hits me then, and I wonder if Crew will go for it.
It’s doubtful, but all a girl can do is ask, right?
Right.
So, several hours later, when we’re walking into our apartment, I set my bag down and turn to Crew.
“You said to tell you if there’s something I want or need.”
His attention snaps my way, his movements slowing as he sets his keys on the table. “I did.”
“Right, so… will you watch me touch myself?”
Chapter Fifteen
Crew
I did not hear her right. There’s no fucking way I heard her right.
My head cocks to the side, heat brimming beneath my skin. “What?”
“I need to, you know…”
“Come?”
She nods, a pretty pink polishing her cheeks. “I want you to watch.”
Fuck me, I heard her right.
Watch her come.
Watch her fucking come?
There’s no way. I’d lose my shit. Grab her and take her to my room. Toss her on the bed.
I’d spread her legs and then her lips, her pussy lips. Push inside her in a slow, measured move. I’d fuck her senseless, stealing her moans and claiming her mouth.
The mouth she put on me when she got nervous.
It’s fuller now than it was when she was seventeen. Softer.
Ready for more.
Ready for me?
My tongue was two seconds from shoving between the folds, from tasting her—when we were younger and when she pressed her lips to mine at Willies.
Just one taste. That’s all I wanted.
Lie to yourself some more, dumbass.
“Please,” she whispers. “I have all these thoughts and images in my head.”
What kind of thoughts? Images of what?
Who?
Fire flares in my groin.
“But maybe if you’re watching,” she continues, “It could be like it’s not me doing the work, maybe even be more intense.”
It will be. So much more.
I’d coax you through, tell you what to do, ask you how it feels and what you want to do next.
“It could be a lesson, maybe?” She grips for straws.
I swallow, forcing my head to shake. “I’d call that some advanced shit.”
“I’ve taken advanced classes all my life,” she argues.
“We ain’t there yet.”
“Figured not, but it was worth a shot… and you did say ‘ain’t there yet,’ so that’s promising.”
My mouth waters.
My eyes tail her into the kitchen. She pulls open a drawer, grabs something and closes it with her hip. She walks by, rolling something in her palm, and the heavy click-clack can only be one thing. Batteries.