I file that note away, lavishing his dick with all my tongue’s attention, but careful to catch any extra juices in my mouth so I don’t displease him. He gathers my hair in a low pony tail and fists his hand in my hair, using it like a handle and guiding me where he wants me. He drags me across the bed until I’m on my hands and knees, then he shoves my face back on his cock. It’s easier to take him like this, even with his fisted hand in my hair. I can pull my head back when the largeness of his cock becomes more of a problem than a pleasure.
As I take him all the way to the base, he groans and pets my back. “That’s perfect. Take it all. That’s my good girl.”
His good girl. My pussy throbs and a moment later I’m rewarded with the hot evidence of his release as he pumps into my throat one more time.
“Christ, Laurel,” he murmurs, falling back on the bed and dragging me with him.
I turn and snuggle into his embrace, peppering his chest with kisses. My stomach is still twisted up with desire, even though he got me off the first time. He turned me on even more the second time. I can’t resist rubbing against his thigh, seeking friction.
That gets his attention.
“You need to come again, pretty girl?” he murmurs.
I bite my lip, feeling greedy.
Sin smiles and pushes his blunt finger between my legs. My arousal is ratcheted up and I’m so high on him already, it only takes a minute of him rubbing me before I come for him again, crying out his name and clutching his side as I push myself against his hand.
Now sated and boneless, I curl up against his side. He keeps a strong arm around my waist, keeping me nestled close. He kisses the top of my head again, but still not my lips.
I’m too worn out to complain.
All I want to do is lie here with our bodies entwined and never leave.
26
Rafe
Among the long and varied list of reasons Cassandra Carmichael is the biblical idea of Satan brought to life and given a vagina, she made me do terrible things when we were together—like watch The Bachelor with her.
My initial response was a sensible “fuck no,” but within a couple episodes (and with enough alcohol), I warmed to the parade of bikini-clad dipshits. The show itself was human carnage, just an absolute train wreck—I assume that’s why Cassandra liked it. Watching the character dynamics got boring fast—it was too easy to predict who would be sent home, even taking into account the fact that some of it was obviously scripted and decided by producers who needed to consider ratings.
One thing I found surprising, though, was how none of the women ever seemed to pick up on the fact that becoming a tattler gets you sent home. It didn’t matter if that season’s evil bitch killed your dog and fucked your father, telling the uncaring bachelor asshole how evil she was would definitely result in someone going home—but always you, never her.
People always shoot the messenger. They like positivity and fun when they’re trying to fall in love, not the person who tells them their favorite eye candy is made of pure evil. Doesn’t matter if it’s the truth—the truth is irrelevant. It’s all about the experience. Given the right environment, the right level of arousal (even if it has nothing to do with the man, and is more because they’re bungee jumping off a fucking bridge somewhere), any single one of the women on these shows can be so convinced they love this man they’ve spent approximately five hours with, that they will blubber all over the place when he sends them home.
Sure, some of them are faking, but I’ve seduced enough real women to know the same principles apply to women who aren’t trying to score their own reality show.
When I left Sin’s house last night, my initial reaction was that I wanted to take his ass down. I wanted to dredge up his past and throw it right in Laurel’s face so she’d see that he’s not whatever he has convinced her he is, and she would run back to my bed.
That would not have worked. I realized it by the time I got home. Once I got my kneejerk reactions in check, I ditched that idea and set about planning something much better. I took into account Laurel’s interests. I don’t know a lot of them, but I was able to cobble together a pretty nice day with what I do know—and over the course of it, I plan to learn more.
As far as sabotaging Sin, I’ll have to be more under-handed in that regard. If it even comes to that. I seduced Laurel once, and it was effortless. Granted, I had no competition then, but I’m not afraid of a little competition. Sin isn’t even charming, so if she goes for my shtick, he should be easy to shake. Personality-wise, Sin and I are nothing alike. I like to have fun, and he doesn’t. If Laurel is drawn to me, simply putting myself back on the table and showing her I’m capable of not being an asshole should do the trick.
If not, I’ll break out some dirtier tricks. I’ll leak information about him to her without getting my own hands dirty. I’ve already started greasing those wheels just in case, but I don’t think I’ll need to. I’m pretty confident in my own ability to win Laurel back.
Step one is already done; I sent Sin out early and made sure he’s busy as hell all day long. That leaves Laurel home alone and without anything to do when I show up on her doorstep this morning.
At least, that was the idea. I’m standing here like an asshole after knocking for a third time, and she still has not come to the door. I haven’t had to pick a lock in quite some time, and Sin’s door is more secure than mine, so this is going to be a hassle. I think back to last night and recall the door from inside. It has three locks, and the deadbolt he has on this door is a real fucking headache. Shit, that’s a lot of work. I don’t want to do all that.
I wait one more minute, then I trip the lock on his gate and walk around to the back door. That one has reinforced glass and a bar lock, but I’ll be able to see into the house and see if Laurel is creeping around, trying to hide from me. She has to be in there; maybe she just doesn’t want to answer the door.
Sure enough, when
I get to the back door, I can see straight into the kitchen, where Laurel’s little ass is standing, peeking through the doorway at the front door. Smirking, I tap on the glass and watch as she jumps out of her skin and turns around to look at me.
I cock an expectant eyebrow, and I can see her face flush from here.
There are four steps from the kitchen down to the room where the back door is. Laurel approaches the glass, but then she looks at the barred lock like she’s not completely sure how to work it.