Sway (Landry Family 1)

His breathing is as erratic as mine. We face each other, ignoring the phone that’s ringing yet again. There’s a band pulling us together and I know he feels it too.

“Be ready at eight. Wear something I can get off of you quickly.”

“What?” I take a step back, the lust clearing out of my head at his tone. It’s a command, an instruction, and the sound of it brings back a lot of memories I don’t want to recall . . . and a burst of reality I’d somehow forgotten.

“Tonight,” he repeats. “I’ll have Troy pick you up around eight.”

Holding my hand in front of me, I shake my head. “Look, I think you misunderstand . . .”

The cocky grin on his face would’ve been adorable a few minutes ago. Now, it’s frustrating. “Stop playing hard to get. It’s cute, sure, but I’ve seen it a hundred times and it’s just going to take longer to get to the end point. And, let’s be honest, we will get to the end point with your back—”

I half-laugh, half-snort at his insinuation that he can just bowl me over, interrupting him mid-sentence.

“If the end result is you looking at my back as I walk out of here, then you’re right,” I say simply before taking the few steps to the door.

His brows are pulled together, a look of astonishment on his face. “What are you doing? I know you feel this. I know you want my cock as bad as I want it buried in you.”

“What I want and what I feel aren’t the problem. The problem is that you forgot your manners,” I smile as sweetly as I can. “Apparently you want someone that will bend to your will, jump, fuck when you say so. And if that’s what you want,” I shrug, “try the girl in the red dress from last night, but it isn’t going to be me.”

A look of bewilderment on his face, he shakes his head from side to side. “I’m sorry, Alison. Really. I . . .”

“Don’t be sorry. I get it. Women drop to their knees for you.” I flick the handle and pull the door open. “Good luck in your campaign, Barrett.”

I’m around the corner of the door before he realizes it.

"Alison!" he calls as I hit the landing and dart out the door, but I don't look back. And thankfully or not, he doesn't come after me.

Barrett

“FUCK IT,” I MUTTER, SHOVING away from my desk. My chair rolls back on the hardwood floor of my office, coming to a rest a few inches from the wall.

It’s been three days since I saw Alison Baker. I figured I’d feel differently in a few days. I’d forget the sweet taste of her lips, the way her breasts pushed against my chest, and the sound of her laugh caressing my ears. Never did I think I’d still be replaying our conversations, jacking off every night to the vision of her body sitting on my cock.

Fuck. Me.

Her body is curvy perfection, her face is beautiful, her voice a call right to a place inside my chest that makes me feel like I light up on the inside when she speaks to me. But none of those reasons are why I’m a mess over this girl. I’ve seen banging bodies a hundred times before. Faces are a dime a dozen and I’ve heard the sexiest things, sweetest things, filthiest things whispered in my ear.

It’s not what Alison looks like, it’s not what she sounds like that has me messed up. It’s what she’s not.

She’s not calculated or conniving. She doesn’t have every word, every move thought out in advance. As crazy as it sounds, she’s a real person and one I can’t shake.

And that’s what has me fucked up, feeling guilt over something I said to a woman for quite possibly the first time in my life.

I feel like a complete cocksucker for making her feel like just another girl because clearly she’s not. I love that she has the confidence to not just be another girl. That makes her even more intriguing . . . and me even more of an asshole.

A soft thud raps against the door before it pushes open. Camilla’s heels, a delicate tick against the hardwood, announce her arrival.

She slips inside my office and shuts the door securely behind her.

“Hey, big brother,” she smiles, taking a seat across from my desk.

“How are you, Swink?”

“Good! Mom had some paperwork for Rose, so I brought it by on my way to meet a friend for lunch.”

“A friend?” I ask, cocking a brow.

“A friend. Her name is Joy, so don’t panic.”