Dirty Princes (Hot Candy 3)

The girl I’d like to impress.

“You have sauce,” she says and taps her chin. “Here.”

Fuck. Me.

***

I refuse a second serving because my stomach is churning. Not sure if it’s embarrassment, anxiety, the beers, or the spicy curry I inhaled.

Probably all of it.

The guys wander back to the living room, and I follow, AKA I drag my sorry self along, sipping a glass of water. I couldn’t have stayed back in the kitchen if I’d tried, Brylee’s coppery curls and heart-shaped ass drawing me like bait on a hook.

I’m caught, sure as hell, and I can’t even tell you why. I mean, the girl’s sexy, no doubt about it. But I haven’t been hooked like that in ages.

A good fuck is what I need, I decide as I perch on the sofa armrest, willing my stomach to settle. A good fuck and for my luck to turn.

Problem is, I’ve never believed in luck. There has never been anyone but me changing the terms, changing things around. It’s up to me to fix this.

I know what I need to do.

Talk to Xavier.

Check on my parents, make sure they haven’t stabbed each other during one of their fights.

Find money. Start by finding a better-paying job. Or a second job. Anything to make ends meet.

Then, after all this is done, allow myself to be distracted by my body’s needs. It doesn’t have to be this girl. Or any girl, even. Could be a man, too. I’ve seen Nash, a guy at work, giving me looks. He’d do just fine. I just need to scratch this itch and get on with life.

I know all this for a fact. Even as I feel my brain sloshing inside my skull, and the alcohol inside my stomach, I know those are my priorities.

And then Brylee turns toward me, and the light in my brain goes out. Snap. I can’t remember what I was thinking. Don’t know, don’t care.

She’s all I can see, her eyes, her mouth, the arch of her neck, the swell of her tits, and my body reacts as if touched by lightning.

The fuck.

“Riddick,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Pass me a napkin?”

Get your mind back on track, Rid. “Here.” I almost tip over as I lean forward to grab one for her. “And you have something…”

Her eyes widen. “Where?”

“Here.” I reach out, trail a finger over her mouth. Fuck, her lips are so soft. I wipe at a tiny speck of sauce I might have imagined.

She sucks in a sharp breath and draws back.

I let my hand fall.

“You’re pretty,” I tell her. It’s the truth. I tend to be brutally honest even when not drunk off my ass.

And she’s brutally beautiful.

She has golden freckles on her nose. Her skin is creamy where her sweater plunges down to the curve of her boobs. Her legs are long, and I’m caught in the image of them wrapped around my waist as I pound into her.