Lush (The King Cousins Book 1) (The King Brothers 4) Page 3

  I laugh. “Couldn’t keep stroking me with my fingers inside you? I’m disappointed.”

  She rips my shirt open, buttons flying as she rakes her nails down my chest. “We both know if I hadn’t stopped you would have come all over my hand by now. Don’t I deserve a chance to catch up?”

  Savage need overtakes me. The intensity of it should probably concern me, but all I can think about is how hard I want to fuck her until she can no longer remember her name.

  “It appears as though you’re laboring under the impression that I don’t know how to properly fuck a woman.”

  “Yes, yes. You’re an amazing lover and women fall at your feet. How about you go ahead and prove it,” she pants.

  This woman. “Keep sassing me and you might receive a little punishment.”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  I remove my hand, arms caging her as I smirk down at that sassy mouth. Her eyes snap open, lips twisting in a frown. “What are you doing?”

  “Absolutely not a fucking thing.”

  She rolls her eyes. “If I’d known you had performance anxiety I would have—”

  I kiss her, my teeth sinking into her lower lip. She moans as her mouth drops open. My tongue slides inside, finally tasting the mouth I’ve been fantasizing about for hours. The Scotch still lingers on her tongue as she wraps her arms around my neck.

  I tear my mouth away, trailing my lips down her neck before sinking my teeth into her throat. She cries out, her fingers tearing at my hair.

  “Mhm,” I mumble against her skin. “You do like it rough, you naughty girl.”

  “Just take me already.”

  Fucking hell. I pull my wallet from my pocket and take out a condom before tossing the wallet to the floor. The foil makes a crinkling noise as I tear it open, but before I can roll it down my length, she grabs it.

  “I want to do it.”

  “Go ahead, sweetheart,” I groan, hips thrusting into her hand as she grips me, rolling the condom down my shaft. “Fuck, that feels good.”

  “You’ll feel even better inside me.”

  “Jesus, fuck.”

  She slides down my length again, her thumb rubbing across the top. “Enough teasing,” I snarl, grabbing her hands and threading them around my neck. “Hold on tight, sweetheart. You’re going to need it.”

  “Why don’t you use that mouth of yours for something other than talking?”

  I wrap her legs around my waist, groaning as her thighs tighten around me. She gasps, then again louder when I stare directly into her eyes and enter her, inch by aching inch. Her eyes widen, those pupils dilating again. Her mouth drops open. I kiss her, our mouths tangling, teeth clashing against each other as I begin to thrust inside her.

  A long moan escapes her, the sound echoing in my mouth. I thrust my tongue inside her in time with my hips. My hand drops down to rub her clit as I pump, grinding faster and faster. Her moans grow louder, vibrating erotically against my lips.

  I tear my mouth away and lean back, affording myself an excellent view as I watch myself enter her over and over. “Looks like you were wrong. You’re so wet I’m clearly fucking you properly.”

  She pulls me back to her, moaning in my ear for me to make her come. I thrust faster, panting, trying with everything in me not to explode inside her. Not yet. Not quite yet. She cries out again, the sound higher, louder. Christ, she’s so close. I bury my face in her neck, my thumb swirling as my hips start jerking erratically despite my every effort to maintain my steady pace. She gasps, writhing against me.

  “I need you to come now,” I growl. “I need to feel you squeezing me.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Do it. Come right now.”

  “Fuck … oh, God yes.”

  “That’s right, I do fuck like a god. I want to hear you screaming in my ear when you shatter.”

  And she’s close. She’s so very close. I can feel her tightening, her hips grinding faster against me, her ass sliding against the bar stool. I thrust faster, plunging deeper inside her. I can feel every inch of her gripping me, the tension in her limbs, her helpless need.

  My eyes collide with hers. “Come, sweetheart. Now. You’re so close for me. Let me feel you writhe against me.”

  And she does. She screams, nails digging into my skin as she finally explodes. She grinds against me, burying her head in my neck.

  It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

  My control snaps. I pound inside her, overwhelmed by the familiar yet delectable sensation of an orgasm the intensity of which I’ve never quite experienced before. I want nothing more than to keep thrusting into her again and again until we’re both spent and immobile on the bar floor.

  And I would have done just that, except for the fact that this time, my mother of all orgasms is joined by another sensation. One terrifyingly undeniable.

  Because as I plunge inside her one final time, I also feel the distinct, horrifying sensation of a condom breaking.

  Chapter Four

  Nathan

  For a long, never-ending moment neither of us moves, locked in the throes of shock and horror.

  It lasts about two seconds.

  “Get out of me!” she yells, but I’m already withdrawing, staring down at the carnage. Yep, a cummy massacre. No getting around it; I came inside that pussy.

  A high, buzzing noise starts shrieking in my ear. My body flashes hot, then cold, then hot again. I can actually hear my heartbeat, it’s pounding so hard. Fuck. Fuuuck. She could get pregnant. She could be pregnant right now. No, no, that’s insanity. My swimmers are fast, but they’re not that fast.

  It’ll be okay. I can fix this. I can, um, uh …

  “Where’s the bathroom?”

  The quiet words jolt me out of my stupor. She’s rolled off the bar and is now tugging her dress down. Normally, I’d pause to enjoy the view, but even the sight of her shapely thighs can’t distract me from my freak-out. Her face is still deathly pale. She refuses to look at me.

  The poor gal looks like I just kicked her cat. Well, obviously I destroyed her pussy like nobody’s business, but her screams kind of implied that I was on the right track. Now? Definitely, definitely not.

  “Down the hall,” I say, jerking my thumb toward the bathroom.

  She hustles toward it, doing this little waddle that would normally have me grinning with pride but now just further underscores how screwed I am. My eyes snap back to my cock, who’s doing a little freak-out of his own, screaming at me to get the ripped remains of the condom off him so he’s not strangled anymore.

  “Don’t worry, buddy,” I whisper, high-tailing it into the men’s bathroom. I clean up, resisting the urge to scrub my poor dick with the bathroom cleaner I store in the closet. When I finally leave the bathroom, she’s waiting for me, her foot tapping annoyedly.

  This is awkward. Even for me. “So, uh, is there any likelihood that you could get pregnant?”

  Her brows raise at the squeaky tone of my voice. “No.”

  “No? Just … no?”

  She mutters something unintelligible, rooting around in her purse. A second later, she finds what she’s looking for and wags it under my nose. My internal screams halt long enough for me to notice it’s a birth control packet. One of the four rows has been depleted of pills.

  “So … that’s like a quarter protection, or—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You know it means I’m on the pill. So unless I’m one of the one percent of failure cases, I think we probably don’t need to start planning the baby shower.”

  “Christ, don’t say that. Don’t even put it out there.” I knock on the wooden wall above her head.

  She snorts, apparently unimpressed with my superstitiousness. Now, that’s just hurtful. We’re already 1-for-1 in terms of contraceptive failure; I wouldn’t put it past the universe to make us go 2-for-2.

  “I’m going to need you to get tested,” she says, putting the birth control away—thank God—before pulling
her phone out and frowning at something on the screen.

  Whoaaa, Nellie. Let’s back the eff up, here, folks. “W-what now?”

  “Don’t worry; I’m clean. Well. I know I was five minutes ago, anyway. Can the same be said for you?” she says without looking up from her phone.

  I rear back. I’m a pretty easy-going guy, but even I have my limits to being insulted. “I don’t have an STD, for fuck’s sake,” I snap, then add, “and why would I just believe that you yourself don’t?”

  Her eyes flick to mine, then roll so far back in her head I wonder if I’ll have to perform an exorcism before I can get her answer. This situation might call for one, anyway. Just to get rid of the bad juju.

  I watch as her fingers tap tap tap on the screen for a few moments, and then she holds it up for me to see.

  “I’m sure reading is a hard task for you, so allow me to spell it out. These are my most recent tests results. From a week ago. Typically, I show them to a partner before we get nasty, but …” She glances at me significantly. I read her loud and clear. I was there when we attacked each other like wild animals.

  “Give me that,” I say, grabbing for her phone.

  She jerks it away. “Do you think I’m stupid? This is the only leverage I have to guarantee you’ll get tested yourself.”

  Fuck this woman. I don’t care if she’s right; this is the most humiliating thing I’ve ever experienced. This implication that I’m dirty, fucking diseased. I might spend all my time in a rowdy bar, but that doesn’t mean I don’t take care of myself. I got tested a couple months ago, and contrary to what the events the last five minutes might imply, I actually do know how to use a condom.

  But I know, I just know, she’ll never leave me alone until I do this. She’s the kind of woman who’ll push and nag and poke until a man capitulates. Thirty minutes ago, I was all aboard, but right about now, I’d be stunned if I ever manage a stiffy in her presence again.

  There’s undeniable attraction between us, but the last five minutes have done a helluva job convincing me just how incompatible we’d be in any kind of relationship. That icy demeanor that initially attracted me to her is now the very thing that’s irritating the shit out of me. I get that it’s responsible for us to get checked out after a broken condom, but she doesn’t need to make me feel bad about it. It’s not like either of us planned for it to happen.

  She’s Stone Cold Barbie and I’m Relaxed Roy Rogers. Any relationship we’d start would be doomed to failure.

  Besides, while I may be A-Ok manipulating my brothers into relationships, I’m never marrying. Hell to the nope. I know better than that. Not after what happened to our parents.

  So yeah, I cannot wait to never see this woman again.

  “How am I going to get the results to you? Believe me, I’m well aware you’re never going to show up here again,” I say, staring at the wall above her head. All the fight has left me, leaving a bad taste of disillusionment in my mouth. What a bummer that the memory of the best sex I’ve ever had will forever be tainted by such a horrible ending.

  She doesn’t immediately answer my question. If I was smart, I’d pick up on that pause, but in reality, I’m still freaking out so much the only thing I can think about is whether or not I’ve just contracted some disease from a psycho.

  “You can just email it to me,” she finally says. “What’s your email?”

  I give it to her, she types it in, and a minute later, my phone vibrates with the notification of an email. I don’t bother looking at it; I want to erase all of this, wipe it completely from my mind, pretend it never existed. Whatever needs to be done to make this woman go away.

  But because I really am dumb, I don’t just let it go.

  “Your test is a week old. You could have fucked some guy yesterday who’s riddled with disease.”

  She rolls her eyes. “If I had—which I didn’t—I’m sure he still would have rustled up enough brain cells to use a non-defective condom.”

  Christ, she’s fast. If this hadn’t happened, I might have ended up liking her for more than just her incredible sexual prowess. Saucy women are one of my many, many weaknesses. Too bad I’m done playing around. So I just stare at her, folding my arms over my chest and frowning.

  And the most incredible thing happens. She softens. “Okay, fine. I guess I’ve been a bit rude. You’re probably freaking out as much as I am. If you absolutely must have the reassurance, then I’ll get tested too. Happy?”

  Not even the slightest bit, but I do feel a little better. This is the first speck of human decency she’s shown me tonight. If only it hadn’t taken a broken condom to get her to reveal it.

  “Fine. I’ll let you know when I have the results,” I grumble.

  She sniffs, her thumb tapping the phone screen repeatedly while we continue to stare at each other. Her gaze is a little stunned, glassy. Suddenly, I feel terrible. She’s right; I should have had a better condom. I’ve probably come off as a bit of a man-whore, and that impression must have been confirmed by the condom breaking. That’s got to suck to think about. She might even be more terrified than I am.

  It makes me believe her when she says she hasn’t been with anyone since she got those test results. I’m not going to take that chance, though.

  But I do take another one. I’m not sure what propels me to do it, but I pull her into a hug. Huh. She fits perfectly against my chest. That’s kind of … nice. Damn it.

  She stiffens. I freeze, thinking she’s about to clobber me, but then she relaxes. Her arms come around me, clutching the back of my shirt.

  “It’ll be okay. We’re both convinced we’re clean, right? Even if neither of us believes the other, we just need a little test to prove it,” I say, hoping my words soothe her more than they do me, which is not at all.

  “Yeah,” she says after a pause, her voice high and shaky.

  And I don’t know why, but her freaked-out voice completely gets me. This woman has shown me nothing but sass and toughness this entire night, but something about this vulnerability hits me right in the male protective instinct. And that blows because I don’t want to feel it, don’t want the way it binds us together.

  We pull away a moment later. Her acceptance of my hug must embarrass her because she keeps her eyes on the floor. She throws her phone in her purse and hitches it higher over her shoulder. Finally, she meets my gaze, and we’re back to Stone Cold Barbie.

  “There’s no more to discuss, then. I’ll await your, uh, email. I’d thank you for the sex, which I did rather enjoy, but I think we can both agree it’s best we cut our losses, no?”

  And I must be real dumb, because even though I’ve already sworn off this woman, even though I never want to see her again, that she admitted she liked me fucking her makes me want to take her again.

  “Well, you know, I’ve always been a glutton for punishment,” I say, grinning slowly. “I wouldn’t mind a round two. Sans clothes this time, of course.”

  She rolls her eyes, but the heat in them undermines her annoyance. She points a finger at me, waving it for emphasis as she says, “That’s a no from me.”

  I wink at her. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

  She heads for the exit, then glances back over her shoulder. She studies me for a long moment, and it’s such a pointed gaze I wonder what she means by it. “Goodbye.”

  But the strangest thing is that this doesn’t feel like a goodbye. It feels like a beginning.

  Chapter Five

  Jude

  I white-knuckle the steering wheel the whole drive back to Savannah. Just when I manage to quell my panic over the condom situation, a mental image of our hot encounter flashes through my mind and I get distracted for a whole other reason.

  My empty hotel room does little to help the situation. What I should do is go out for drinks and try to distract myself from the quagmire I’ve stupidly landed myself into, but between the cross-country flight, multi-hour drive roundtrip, and emotional turmoil, I’
m all out of energy.

  How stupid am I? I told myself I shouldn’t hook up with the guy, but did I listen to my own damn self? Nope. Did I really think I could hook up with him and never see him again? Silly me, thinking that would be the case. Joke’s on me; now I have to wait for stupid test results from him.

  I swear that’s the last time I ever let my partner bring the birth control. A faulty condom? What is this, tenth grade? Did he have to smuggle it out of his dad’s bathroom or something? Had it been riding around in his wallet for eight months hoping to get lucky?

  Thank God for birth control.

  What the hell am I going to do if he happens to tell Nathan King about our hookup? Like, “Why, hello. Nice to meet you. I screwed your employee, and we had a little whoopsie. Don’t worry, though, I’ll sure take care of your fledgling company! No problem!”

  Right.

  If I have any good karma left in this world, the guy only works Tuesday nights, and he won’t be around when King gives his big presentation to us on Monday. With any luck at all, I’ll be back on Northwood’s plane long before Bartender Boy steps foot on the premises.

  Thank God he didn’t turn out to be Nathan King. That would have been beyond horrible. But I specifically asked him if he owned the bar, and he told me he didn’t, so at least I dodged that bullet. I wouldn’t have slept with him otherwise.

  Still, I cannot even believe I was so irresponsible. I mean, sure, the guy can fuck like a god and has a stellar sense of humor, but that little bar interlude proves he isn’t the most responsible guy on the planet. That’s not exactly a quality trait you want in a sexual partner.

  I’m the queen of planners and forecasts and itineraries. I don’t mind picking up a guy in a bar; work is so busy, I’d be forced into celibacy otherwise. It’s fine with me—so long as we have an actual discussion about health first that’s not completely tinged with alcohol. Not to mention using a fully-functioning condom!