Ruckus (Sinners of Saint 2)

Vicious and Jaime were downstairs, hitting the blackjack tables.

I heard the soft knock on the door and opened it. She stood on the threshold, still clad in that pink dress that made all the other girls at the bachelorette party look like human-sized vaginas but somehow made her look like a princess, and my heart did a wild thing in my chest.

And it was funny how people always said that I was trouble, when trouble looked like a tiny, blue-eyed girl in a huge pink dress and brownish-orange freckles.

Rosie looked pissed.

Her pixie ears were pink, her mouth was twisted into a sneer, and her foot was tapping that red carpet like she was trying to stomp it to death. It’d been like this for days now, and it rubbed me the wrong way. Rosie wasn’t herself in Todos Santos, or in Vegas. She wasn’t self-assured, fun, and sassy. She was angry, annoyed, and desperate. I had a feeling it had a lot to do with her family, and now I knew that she didn’t want to accept my plane ticket not only because of the money, but also because of how this place made her feel.

“You need a cold shower to get some fucking chill.” I gave her my unsolicited advice.

“I need a hot fling to make me forget,” she disagreed, pushing me into the room and walking in. I let her take the lead, giving her the false-assumption she was under some sort of control—and followed her, watching her round ass in that dress.

“Hop into the shower, Sirius.”

“I don’t think so, Planet Earth.”

If a smile could split your face in two, I’d have headed straight to the hospital at that second. “Planet Earth?” I clucked my tongue. “Color me curious and horny.”

She whipped her head around, her chin resting on her shoulder.

“You are chaotic, crazy, and full of wars and angst. But you’re the liveliest place I’ve ever been to.”

Fuck. I was going to put a ring on her finger, and it was probably going to weigh as much as she did, if not more. It wasn’t just this whole, crazy week talking. She was humoring me. Every part of me. Even the dark shit no one wanted anything to do with.

“In the shower,” I repeated, my voice solemn, walking over and swatting her ass. Nothing too bad. Yet. “For every minute you keep me waiting, I’ll deny you another orgasm.”

Girl practically jogged her way there, breaking some cystic fibrosis-related records, I’m sure.

She stripped out of her dress, shoes, and panties. Baby blue, lace and satin, and I was tempted to shove them into my pocket, but I reminded myself that if I was going to have my way, Rosie would soon have her whole fucking wardrobe in my closet and I wouldn’t need it. Still, I would probably take a few of her panties with me to work. Just to get me through the day.

I turned on the faucet—the water was ice-cold—and nodded for her to get in while I was still fully dressed. She eyed me suspiciously, and even though she was completely naked, she didn’t try to hide her body. Not that she had a reason to. Rosie LeBlanc was a piece of art if I ever saw one.

“I’m sick,” she said.

“You’re going to be fine,” I assured. I wasn’t a fucking doctor, but I loved guiding her out of her comfort zone—enjoyed her reaction when she realized that for me, she wasn’t a wilting flower. She was a strong tree with a great trunk. Pun intended, obviously.

“What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“Will you join me?”

“If you ask nicely.”

She chuckled, folding her arms over her bare chest. It was the first time I saw her tits, but it took me a few seconds to realize it, because in my mind, she was always naked. Funny how the human brain works.

“Please, will you join me in the shower?” she asked through an eye roll.

“I’m sorry, is that your version of nice?” I unzipped my dress pants and took out my cock. I was completely hard, my dick jerking in my hand, its head pointing at her angrily. Her eyes widened as she took a good look at it for the very first time.

Watching her reaction closely, drinking every single movement she’d made, every blink, every twitch, I waited. She took a second to regroup before she ate the space between us, and a glimpse of that Rosie from New York shone through the girl standing in front of me. When we were flush against each other, she took hold of my cock and stared me in the eye, defying me. The water was still running in the background.

“Ask nicely,” I repeated. “And I’ll join you. Ask nicer—and I will even turn the hot water on.”

She dropped to her knees, dug her fingers into the back of my thigh, and wrapped her other hand around my shaft. Her hand was tiny, and my cock was big, so her fingers didn’t even touch as she held me. And yes, of course, it was a turn-on. She swirled the tip of her tongue around my head unhurriedly—it looked as heated as she had felt—before taking some of me in, licking me like I was a fucking lollipop. I loved her version of sucking cock. It was so different than my usual one-night stands, who Hoovered the fuck out of my dick like they were trying to pull it off of my body. No. Rosie teased me. Enjoyed me. She licked until I held her hair to keep her head in place and started driving into her mouth, fucking it as I groaned.