Книга - Boys Next Door

Boys Next Door
Sommer Marsden


Never in her hottest dreams did Farrell McGee expect a move to Tower Terrace to be such an erotic roller coaster ride. Indulge in ‘Boys Next Door’, an explicit erotica novel from Mischief Books.‘Good luck getting your key. I’m the middle house across the road should you need anything. At all,’ he said. The tone, the words, the accent on the anything. Oh god, he was one of those men. Men who had tons of self assurance and sexual prowess and total faith in their bedroom abilities. Those men were dangerous.’Starting over at twenty eight, Farrell McGee discovers sleepy Tower Terrace teeming with handsome men. Well, maybe not teeming, but three heart-stopping men do live across the road from her.Despite feeling she's fallen backwards into a fairytale, complete with a big stone tower, a local legend and missing love letters, it becomes clear that all three of her neighbours have a sensual grip on her. She's powerless to choose just one, and just as powerless to get them out of her head or her bed.Deke, the devilish good boy who's superb at being bad. Coop, so often annoying in his gruffness, but oh so dominant where it counts. And Stephen the pretty, sweet, slightly submissive one. Her sex life has never been so good and her heart never so torn. She needs to choose one man, when she's not ready to give up any of them.But deep down she knows who she wants.









BOYS NEXT DOOR

Sommer Marsden





(http://bit.ly/KqDOG3)




Copyright (#ulink_088790e6-f50d-5034-9d9c-e8bdd70686a1)


Mischief

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.mischiefbooks.com (http://www.mischiefbooks.com)

Copyright © Sommer Marsden 2012

Cover design: Head Design 2017, cover images: Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com)

Sommer Marsden asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Ebook Edition © 2012 ISBN 9780007479313

Version: 2017-08-19


Contents

Cover (#u8d701921-9c6b-5c6d-a5c3-28f8945e8222)

Title Page (#ude588ada-5112-5bb3-a748-379d08cf1d44)

Copyright (#u2d5dbd09-f4f0-5ab3-8cc6-88493a50fdbb)

Chapter One (#u9ece989d-1d1a-547b-8a90-090438884a6a)

Chapter Two (#u286592a5-1637-558f-aa73-00fc34be6740)

Chapter Three (#ub757dadc-984a-5faf-94ff-5b24041e46fd)

Chapter Four (#u03f97d74-4a7c-5c8f-a6f9-ff4bef48e6b9)

Chapter Five (#ub95850c5-627b-560c-94db-cdb3bd56b87a)

Chapter Six (#u2c7a2dec-6d52-5bca-a577-f771784086d3)

Chapter Seven (#u741c4474-ece3-5e22-97ed-b1c27413d2a1)

Chapter Eight (#u4ef2506f-ee3b-56e9-b292-3c05d41bf0ad)

Chapter Nine (#u54e8a017-78ed-5e9e-a1ed-f75ca1eeabcc)

Chapter Ten (#uc4a14952-f8ae-5bc4-978a-27713c3b4040)

Chapter Eleven (#uad640653-bca6-5908-a605-99e2222e5ea1)

Chapter Twelve (#u62c2f1f1-4f85-5ea9-ad07-17eac251832c)

Chapter Thirteen (#ubbfe8131-9ef7-575f-903a-b6e8cd236414)

Chapter Fourteen (#u929b3e24-4737-584f-8508-449465a14d07)

Chapter Fifteen (#u03762152-f7fe-503e-998b-66a637c1fda1)

Chapter Sixteen (#u20db047f-78d9-50b2-9a69-475d30026c85)

Chapter Seventeen (#u58231652-d15b-5faf-9bca-397186c6fbeb)

Chapter Eighteen (#u3ba07080-2193-5e33-8d98-655d213e1ada)

Chapter Nineteen (#u6a94362b-1796-585c-abc5-b27ed78272de)

Chapter Twenty (#u35490471-531d-557a-904b-95abfcbe39cd)

Chapter Twenty-One (#u5f2b64c5-3391-5ee4-aee1-38e6b409d08e)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#u784483c0-9d4e-54a0-95f8-09d17b4ee9ed)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#u7acec5dd-0fc7-530d-ae59-9a053d684ab8)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#u98ca73d3-d3fa-5c32-b41b-51b2999a9557)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#u9d78b363-92a0-55c5-b669-86da979b6137)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#ufc0601b5-054b-555c-b84b-fe7b5a98df5d)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#u52222a72-f88e-553f-89ba-e1d120997af4)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#ue77d0223-87d6-59c8-8ecb-5625e5dcddc7)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#ua4e51db9-b801-5d78-a8c6-58b90de00bd1)

Chapter Thirty (#u238007ab-998b-5d32-b6c9-def57d58a823)

Chapter Thirty-One (#u4f258afa-c3b7-5f63-b98f-d5e317315df5)

Chapter Thirty-Two (#u144230e2-8921-53d9-9cf3-291fc81f14c2)

Chapter Thirty-Three (#ub48d6ffb-843b-5a2e-bd38-b47fbfbc8816)

Chapter Thirty-Four (#u8ff980e7-1ad1-5e3c-a6e4-908fe47c6d5a)

Chapter Thirty-Five (#uc1b68841-f76e-5647-aced-d9110f24402e)

Epilogue (#ua118beaa-0c80-54c6-830f-4a6fc991a6c9)

More from Mischief (#u21408b37-1878-5acb-9d6a-83443ade539e)

About Mischief (#u30041326-65ee-597a-b4a8-c2916f2c122b)

About the Publisher (#u32b06286-e902-5aae-94d6-d59e873941c6)




Chapter One (#ulink_1f715a5c-69d9-5a1e-90fb-d8db3c1e59aa)


It’s hard for a man to argue with you when his mouth is settled on your pussy. I was no fool and knew it to be fact, so I made sure to keep mine pressed tight to Todd’s magical mouth as he kneeled before me.

‘Right there,’ I said as he swept his tongue almost shyly, but with the perfect amount of pressure, over my clitoris. ‘Right. Fucking. There.’ I fisted my hands in his dark-brown hair, my purple fingernails winking in the low light through his chocolaty strands.

‘Not too hard,’ he hissed and the vibration shot through me.

‘You love it, you bitch,’ I laughed, tugging.

He grinned, working his wicked tongue along my outer lips. ‘Shut up,’ he said. Because I was right.

His thick fingers, fingers that worked to build decks and driveways all day long, plunged into me. The sudden burst of pressure and fullness pushed me one inch closer to coming, but I gritted my teeth and pushed my sex closer to his eager tongue. The ridge of his teeth pressed into my mound and he laughed a little.

‘You’re such a slut, Far –’ Todd managed right before I thrust against his too-talkative lips.

He sucked me in then, hard and fast, and that feeling of being drawn on brought me down to a sigh. So good. So fucking good. For all of his childish and somewhat bitchy ways he was a good lover. And that, I would miss.

His fingers drove into me, curling against my G-spot and my hips took up their own little tempo of thrusting. A rogue manoeuvre: about as controllable as breathing. I gasped, tugged his locks tighter so he winced and he pulled his fingers free of me. My punishment. Emptiness.

‘Oh, Todd, don’t cheat,’ I cooed, a little steel in my voice. Another sharp tug and he slid one of his slick fingers into my ass. One hard thrust and I shut up.

‘I’m not cheating, Far, just giving a good little slut what she likes.’

I moaned before I could catch myself. His finger probing me so deeply in my back hole that I felt the nudge against my G-spot, being attacked from an entirely new angle. He shoved me back so my feet left the ground and I was forced to drop to the bed.

The tables were turning. My pussy became wetter with the thought, my stomach going light, like in free fall.

Todd clamped his mouth back on me and suckled. His tongue a swatch of wet velvet against my already hot skin. ‘The trick to my girl is to get her so worked up she’s mindless,’ he whispered.

He meant me.

‘And when she’s so worked up she’s mindless. When she’s so unbelievably fucking turned on. When she is juicy and slippery and ready for anything, you give her that one sweet brutal orgasm and then …’

‘Then?’ I managed to say, my voice almost guttural with arousal.

‘Then you fuck her up that sweet little ass.’

There was a snap of latex and he pushed my legs high, pinning my arms down at my side with manacles formed of his own strong hands. Todd drove into me, my pussy already clenching tight around him from the dirty talk. He was going to do everything he’d said. My hair whispered against the bedding, telling me secrets as I struggled not to come too soon.

Todd moved one hand down and found my clit with his thumb, his eyes staying on my face, reading me as he fucked me. When I bit my bottom lip he pushed with his thumb and the pressure seized me. ‘Come for me, Farrell, because then I can flip you over and do what I want.’

His eyes, heavy with leftover anger, never wavered as he continued to press my right wrist down hard and thrust deep. When he leaned over, licking a wet line along my clavicle I shivered. When he found me with his teeth and bit me, I tried to hold off. I tried really fucking hard not to come, but he bit me again and I came.

Todd pushed into me, rotating his lean hips so that he drew every drop of pleasure from me. He found a way to twist and nudge deeper; I came again and said his name.

‘See, why would you want to leave a man who makes you say his name?’ he said with a chuckle, but I heard the pain under the joke.

‘Twenty-eight years old was the plan.’ I whispered it. We were back to this.

‘So what? Things change. Maybe age twenty-eight isn’t what you thought. Maybe you’re happier than you anticipated. If not now … Soon.’ He sounded angry. And needy. But he never stopped moving in me.

I shook my head. The man wasn’t going to hear me no matter what. ‘Nope. I’m not any of those things. So twenty-eight it is going to stay. My dad bought me that house before he died and I’ve let it sit. Now it’s time to take it. The way I promised myself I would.’

‘Farrell,’ he growled – ready to fight, even mid-fuck.

I shook my head and didn’t speak. He watched me, waiting for me to say something – anything.

‘Turn me over,’ I whispered.

Todd grunted, knowing my tactic but powerless to say no. He pulled free and flipped me onto my belly so the air whooshed out of me in a long lazy sigh. I moved up onto my knees but kept my upper body flat. He liked it that way. Seeing me prone before him. It turned him on no end.

I knew this. So I used it.

‘Fuck, Farrell. Don’t go,’ he said. His cock nudged the tender ring of my anus and I had to focus on relaxing. That first sharp bite-pinch of penetration in the ass is something I both look forward to and fear. A paradox of sex that never fails to stun me.

I pushed back to greet him, trying to open myself to his intrusion. The entire room smelled of the beach suddenly and I couldn’t help but fight a smile. He’d backed off from me and then the gentle press of his fingertip to my ass made me chuckle.

Todd had a thing about coconut oil for anal.

‘Are we on vacation?’ I teased.

‘About to be,’ he grunted.

His finger delved into me and when I moaned and pushed back for more he added a second.

‘Nice,’ I whispered, because I couldn’t help myself.

‘You were a little tight.’

He fucked me with oiled fingers and when he was able to add a third, I was on the verge of touching myself to come. The pressure in my bottom making the dull thump of arousal in my cunt almost unbearable.

‘There’s my girl,’ he growled and then the head of his cock, latex sheathed and warm as sunshine, pressed to my anus.

I didn’t have time to react, he drove into me swiftly and I groaned – part pleasure, part pain until it all quickly bled into fierce sweetness. He was in and he was moving, and my fingers found my clit and started slippery revolutions, desperate for release.

I felt him lean away from me a bit even as he thrust. The nightstand drawer clacked and though I couldn’t see him, I knew what he was doing. The scent of coconut grew sharper and the cool kiss of glass shivered over my slit.

‘No,’ I said. But even in the no you could hear the yes. I could hear it and I knew Todd could too. The need in my voice was thick and almost shameful, making me quiver and my nipples peak.

‘Oh yes,’ he said, sliding the glass dildo deep inside of me. Its blue-glass veins plunged inside my humid depths, and when he fucked me with his hot cock and the cool toy at once, I came undone.

All my wires crossed, all my nerves blinking with confusion and arousal and want. I rubbed a few more hard and slick circles over my swollen clit and came, yelling out into the mattress. The thick bedding muffled my cries but freed me to be as loud as I needed.

And that was loud.

Todd grunted once, pulling the glass dildo from me. He cursed and then both his hands were on my hips, harsh and commanding. My orgasm – my noises – had tipped him over the edge and he was coming. Cussing like a sailor, gripping me tight, asking me something I couldn’t quite hear.

Until the last utterance. Then I was able to make his words out.

‘Are you sure you need to go?’ he grunted.

I let him finish. Let him pull from my body and lay a kiss on my lower back. When he rolled to his side and pulled me down with him, I answered him.

‘Yes. I do.’




Chapter Two (#ulink_9bad6d24-f3b9-5b1b-aa8b-71c45d18d0d2)


Tower Terrace was a sleepy town personified. From the main road the tower was visible and it made me shake my head. Who builds a tower in a tiny little town? The answer is Maxwell Shore. That’s who.

The resident eccentric had built it for his one true love. At least that’s what his will had stated. However, no one had known that fact until he’d died and the will was read. The town had originally been called Maple Terrace but when Maxwell left the town a large sum of money for the tower’s upkeep – providing they changed the name to Tower Terrace – the name changing ceremony was performed, the switch made legal and the entire town had held a huge festival. A huge drunken festival from what my dad had told me; his friend Sidney having told him.

The tower overlooked the plot of land occupied by my brand-new home. A small cottage with two bedrooms, one-and-a-half baths, a converted closet serving as the small half-bath on the first floor. The living room and dining room were a combo deal dominated by a large fireplace. The kitchen was a small town wet dream with a centre island, stainless steel appliances, a pot rack hung over the isle with brass and old-fashioned pots hanging like fat plump metal berries. Sidney had at one point built a small wood burning stove on the outer wall.

Pizza was his life not his hobby, my dad had once told me. Apparently, brick oven pizza.

I couldn’t wait to get inside and get my hands on something to bake. I was a closet Martha Stewart and the thought of making some biscotti or even frou-frou cupcakes in that kitchen gave me a baker’s hard on.

I piloted my small piece of crap car down Lady Bug Lane. No lie – that was the name – and aimed it at my cottage which I’d only visited twice before. Once when my father was considering buying it. And then when he did buy it.

‘But you refused to leave the city until you were twenty-eight,’ I said to myself. There was mild self-annoyance in my tone. ‘And still not a famous actress.’

My last role had been for a douche ad. Something I found hysterical as most doctors currently recommended against douching and had since the Stone Age. I’d almost turned it down but had finally taken it because bartending at the One Eyed Crow hadn’t really left me rolling in dough.

Now I had a house and all I needed to do was find a job before the money that came with the house ran out.

My father hadn’t been loaded but he’d told me that when I took possession of the house there would be a small amount of money attached. ‘To live on. While you find a job,’ he had said.

I guess he’d known I’d end up here after all. And even though, on some level, it hurt that he’d anticipated my apparent failure, I was grateful for what he’d done for me. Maybe he hadn’t anticipated failure; maybe he’d anticipated realisation of self. A need to be more. To do more. And that was what I’d do. I’d fit in, make do and get my shit together before that stipend ran out.

I made a quick right into my driveway and pulled up to the quaint facade of 213 Lady Bug Lane. Home sweet home. Small stone cottage, brown roof, black shingles, red front door. Tucked back from the main road with groups of towering trees that flanked it, it was very much a fairy-tale house.

Hopefully there are no trolls or wicked witches, I thought. I put the car – a 1979 Chevy Malibu – into park and opened the car door.

Fall had come to the East Coast and the wind had some bite to it. I shivered as my boots hit the gravel and the wind actually kicked up high enough to whistle. I turned toward it and saw that the way it swept down the hillside toward my home created almost a tunnel effect. The wind had to buffet around the large tower and down between the three stone houses that faced me. When the streams of air reconvened they hit my little house head-on. Well, if it happened to be blowing in my direction that day.

Three stone houses across the road. The three little pigs, the three bears, the three billy goats Gruff –

I shook my head. Where was all this fairy-tale shit coming from?

‘Stress.’ My own voice spooked me a little, so I put my body into action.

My boots ticked loudly on the wide wooden plank porch. I took it all in, roughly planed wood beneath my feet that appeared untreated. A two-person swing suspended by hardwood rafters overhead gave a gentle sway in the breeze as I approached the red front door. Pretty cool.

I opened the screen door and swallowed hard. Something about the house made me nervous, made me feel like the time had come for me to be a successful adult. Leaving behind a life consisting of meals comprised of Ramen noodles, man-child partners who pouted when they didn’t get their way (no matter how good they were at fucking) and dreams that weren’t quite panning out.

‘You can do this,’ I told myself. I tried to turn the knob and it wouldn’t turn. There was a card stuck in the door jamb. I read it. ‘Realtor,’ I sighed.

Of course! Had I actually thought that I’d be able to open the door and just walk in? A key usually helped.

I let the screen door bang shut and eyed the swing as a bigger gust of wind propelled it. ‘Nice.’

I’d always wanted a porch swing. And it was nice. It had some cushions on it and I could imagine sitting on that swing as the fall set in and put its feet up to stay for a while. A mug of tea or a glass of wine: watching the mountains in the distance turn vibrant with autumn’s fiery colours.

‘But not until you have a key, dumb ass,’ I chided myself.

I tossed the small travel tote full of magazines and snacks on the swing to wait. Then I turned face-first into a wall of a man.

‘Who are you talking to?’

I let out a squawk – an embarrassing aviary impersonation that set my cheeks blazing. My hands came up instinctively to steady myself. ‘I … who … I …’

I shook my head and he helped me find my equilibrium with one gentlemanly hand on my elbow.

‘Coop, is the “who”. I’m your neighbour. Now –’ he cocked his head, green eyes bright despite the overcast day ‘– the only question left is the “I” part. Who are you?’

‘I’m Farrell – McGee … I’m Farrell McGee,’ I said, pushing my shoulders back as if it had taken me a moment to recall my identity. ‘This is my house. Only …’ I spared the quaint red door a wistful glance.

‘No key?’

‘No key,’ I echoed.

Coop, who I assumed lived in one of the three little pigs stone houses, pointed to the small square of paper in my hand. ‘Well, that’s the place to go if you need your key. I can drive you if you need –’

I waved a hand at him and took a step back. Oh no, this was not how I wanted to start my time at Tower Terrace. Flirting with a neighbour and starting something I’d probably regret. It was only the offer of a ride, but the look in his eyes said more.

I suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with another gust of wind. ‘If you’d just point me in the right direction. I need to find my way around eventually, right?’

He nodded, a lock of wheat-coloured hair falling over his broad forehead.

Very boyish. Very handsome. Very off limits.

‘Go back to the main road. Take your second left and the third right. Broad Street. It’s hard to miss. It’s the only building on Broad Street painted red. They should be able to help you.’

I nodded once and backed up another step. ‘Thanks … Coop.’ I couldn’t help myself. ‘Coop, that’s an unusual name. Don’t hear that often.’

He grinned at me and sticking with the fairy-tale theme, I had a flash and sizzle of the big bad wolf leering at me. My stomach twisted in on itself and heat flared between my legs. Awesome, a hormone reaction already. I bit my lip and tried to focus on his answer instead of how nice his mouth was.

‘Jim Cooper … hence, “Coop”,’ he said, putting out a hand. I stared at it dumbly before my brain kicked in and I shook the proffered hand.

‘Oh,’ I said.

‘Fascinating stuff, yeah?’ He hadn’t let go of my hand.

‘I think so,’ I said before I could think better of it. I pulled my hand from his and cleared my throat. ‘Well, I’d better go,’ I said and waited for him to move away.

It took Coop a moment, what with all the staring at me, but finally he shot me one more grin and then started down my wooden steps. My. Wooden. Steps. It made me feel a flash of pride and excitement.

‘Good luck getting your key. I’m the middle house across the road should you need anything. At all,’ he said.

The tone, the words, the accent on the anything. Oh God, he was one of those men. Men who had tons of self-assurance and sexual prowess and total faith in their bedroom abilities. Those men were dangerous.

‘They also happen to be man-sirens to the likes of you,’ I said to myself in the safety of my car. It came out on a shaky sigh and I noticed a light tremble in my hand as I turned the key and the engine caught.

I looked up as I started to back out of my driveway. Coop was just standing there. Waiting. Watching me. That half-smile on his face. I bet he had that half-smile after he fucked a girl, too.

‘Stop,’ I said to myself. But I doubted I would.

* * *

It was a red building. Very, very red. Like blood. I was pretty sure my blood pressure was rising as I entered. It was the tallest building on the street but having a thing about elevators I tried to find the steps. When I opened the door I was met with caution tape and orange cones.

Great. It’s like an obstacle course. What will I have to power through to get my fucking keys?

‘Elevator it is,’ I whispered. ‘It’ll be fine.’

I pushed the button and nervously tapped my foot while I waited. The lobby was pretty much deserted barring the smiling, bleached-blonde woman who’d greeted me and informed me that Pann Realty was on the fourth floor. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about getting on the elevator with a crush of other folks.

The doors popped open and I stepped in. Just me, myself and I. I took a deep breath. It would be fine. The doors were almost shut when a man nearly dove through. All six-foot-four (at least) of lanky man. Dark hair that curled wildly around his forehead, dark-brown eyes that were the epitome of that clichéd description: piercing. He smiled at me and I saw a flash of white teeth in a dark goatee.

He’s very Satan-ish …

The wild thought bloomed in my head just as he pushed the button for the third floor. ‘Sorry to startle you. I’m running late … as usual.’

The doors took their sweet time closing and when the elevator started going up it was a sluggish ascent at best. My nerves jangled.

‘I … it’s fine,’ I said. I could handle one more person in the carriage, right? Even if it was slow as shit. I mean it was just me and him. So why did the elevator feel so small? And cramped. And warm.

He stuck his hand out and for the second time in thirty minutes, I grabbed a big warm man-hand. ‘Deke. Deke Wells. And you … you, I’d remember.’ His gaze swept over me and I felt a flex deep inside as if he were touching me. ‘So you must be new.’

‘Farrell McGee,’ I almost whispered. Where had my voice gone? ‘I just moved in … well, I’m trying to move in if I can get a key to my door.’

He chuckled and it wormed through me, a sudden buzz of lust and attraction. ‘Well, welcome,’ he said.

I almost asked him why he’d chuckled but then the elevators shivered, banged raucously and froze. Then the lights went out.

‘Shit,’ Deke said.

‘What? What shit?’ I gasped. Already putting a hand out to find the wall and steady myself.

‘It does this sometimes. It’s an old elevator. And the custodian is, well, he’s pretty slow.’

‘What are you saying?’ I asked, my fingers brushing something to my left.

‘We could be here for a while.’ When Deke grabbed my hand, I realised that what my fingers had brushed over wasn’t the wall. It was him. Big, lanky, strong and now that I was closer, smelling of wood smoke and pine and cinnamon … him.

Damn.




Chapter Three (#ulink_a58d695b-d0fb-5275-8713-c474cac27cb8)


‘It’ll be okay,’ he said, pulling me back just enough that I brushed against him which helped me get my bearings.

He was warm against me, but I shivered.

‘Your hands are freezing. Are you claustrophobic?’

‘Not so much that,’ I whispered as if louder noise would make us plummet to our deaths. ‘I just don’t like elevators. How long? How long will we be here?’

‘Do you want the truth or do you want a lie?’

I sighed. ‘The truth, though the smart money is probably on the lie.’

‘Probably half an hour to an hour. George has a good heart but slow hands.’

‘Great.’ I moved my hands around to try and find the railing that ran along the sides of the elevator. I didn’t think this poor man needed to be holding me like some damsel in distress. But what my fingers brushed was most definitely not the wall of the elevator. My hand froze.

‘Um …’ he said. And there was that dark and almost sinister laughter that somehow slid up my spine and under my hair and prickled my scalp like electricity.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.

A moment ticked by and I was afraid to breathe. I felt like I might laugh or cry or scream, or possibly all three at once.

‘But not enough to move it, eh?’ he asked, moving his body just enough that I felt the hard push of his cock to my hand.

My face heated with a blush. I was grateful he couldn’t see.

‘Shit. First I grope you and then I … just keep right on groping you. I don’t even move my hand. Have I mentioned the one thing that freaks me out is elevators? And a dark one that is being worked on by a slow man is the worst case scenario.’

‘Hunh,’ he said and I could hear him smile.

‘And my hand is still on your cock!’ I blurted, finally ripping my hand away.

‘Hey, whatever calms you down, Farrell McGee.’

I couldn’t help but snort, but my hands were shaking and I felt a little light-headed.

‘You’re really scared,’ he said.

‘I’m –’

‘It’s coming off of you in waves. It’s palpable. That’s hard to pull off. Palpable fear.’

‘I am nothing if not talented.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I’m a failed actress. You?’

‘Failed writer. But I am currently the butcher for our small town.’

‘Ah, I love meat.’

Dead silence.

‘Oh my God. I swear I’m not normally this stupid.’ I put my hand up to brush my hair out of my face, in the dark it felt like a million tiny spiders tickling my cheeks. But I brushed over him instead – I was starting to wonder if it really was an accident – and he took my hand and squeezed it between his warm ones.

‘Breathe,’ he said. He put my hands flat on his chest and then placed his over the top of mine. I stood there, trying to calm down and feeling the steady and easy beat-beat-beat of his heart.

I took a deep breath and held it before blowing it out. The same way I did for stage fright.

‘Better?’ he asked, his face close, his breath smelling of mint.

‘Better,’ I echoed.

‘You smell good,’ he said. ‘Like peaches and … I can’t quite put my finger on it.’ Deke leaned in and sniffed right at the juncture of neck and shoulder. My skin prickled almost violently. ‘Honey?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘All I can smell is you.’

What was I doing? My God, I had just met this man, had only seen him in the light for a few moments and now – if my nether regions were to be believed – I wanted him. Badly.

‘And what do I smell like?’ He put his hands on my lower back, splaying his fingers, spreading their warmth. He pulled me just a touch closer and though his cock wasn’t touching me, I felt – or imagined I felt – the energy from his hard on mingling with my own lustful energy.

‘Pine and cinnamon and wood smoke. Like the outdoors. That’s what you smell like.’

‘Hunh. Good nose. I spent all day at a client’s fishing cabin, dressing a deer.’

For some odd reason, I imagined a deer in a skiing ensemble and snorted. But even as the laughter burst out of me, I pushed my pelvis to his. Brazen, but it was what I felt the urge to do. So I did it.

New life. New way of doing things.

‘Dressing?’ I rotated my hips just a bit and his fingers brushed over my skin sliding lower to slip beneath the waistband of my jeans.

‘It means butchering. But don’t worry,’ he said, when I went a bit stiff. ‘I cleaned up real good and even had some coffee by the fire before I left.’

His mouth came down on mine then and I figured, fuck it. I was scared and horny and he was handsome and Satan-ish and felt damn good pressed against me.

I let his tongue bully mine before I put my hands in that dark mussed hair I remembered and hauled him to me. Deeper went the kiss and when he bumped his erection against me so I could feel how turned on he was, I nipped his lip.

‘Damn,’ he said. ‘Welcome to town.’

‘Shh. Kiss me,’ I said, rubbing my hand over his cock, squeezing his length through his jeans until he groaned. ‘I need to be distracted.’

‘I can do that,’ he said against my lips. Then he was turning me. A flipping, flying, falling sensation because of the darkness. My back ended up pressed to the wall of the elevator, my ass riding that metal bar I’d been searching out.

‘Touch me,’ I begged. I wasn’t sure where this new ‘me’ was coming from, but it was fine. She was okay by me.

‘I can do that,’ he echoed and his warm fingers ran down my belly, making me tremble. His hand slipped below my jeans before plunging into my panties. Deke’s hot fingers found my clit and he pressed so that all my breath slipped out of me. Warm wet circles brought me close to an orgasm right off the bat. He was good.

I arched against him and kissed him again, finding his face – a bit rough with stubble – with my hands. I sighed again, arching up to meet his touch and he lazily slipped a thick finger into my cunt.

‘You’re so fucking wet, Ms McGee,’ Deke said against my throat. His teeth grazed my pulse point and he gently sucked that fragile skin until an echoing tug sounded in my cunt. My body tightened around his finger and this time we both groaned.

‘I am. I am wet.’ My hand fumbled in the darkness for his buckle and I found it. I recalled it from when he bounded into the elevator car. A big silver buckle on a well-worn brown leather belt. I had a vivid mental image of him tying me up with his belt and my nipples spiked so hard they hurt.

‘Do you have a condom?’ I blurted, shoving my hand into his pants, into his briefs, against his skin. He was hard and surreally balmy in my hand. I squeezed, stealing his breath for an instant.

‘Cliché, but it’s in my wallet.’

Bold, sex-crazed, maybe just insane, I shoved my free hand into his back pocket and came up with a wallet. ‘Get it,’ I said, and pressed the wallet in his hand even as I thumbed the wet slit at the top of his cock.

‘If you keep doing that we won’t need the condom. You’re getting really close to just flipping my lid on the wow factor.’

Again I could almost hear him smiling. There was something heart-warming about that fact.

‘Do it,’ I whispered and buried my nose against his throat, sucking in the scent that was one Deke Wells, Satan-ishly good looking stranger. Now fellow resident of Tower Terrace.

I smelled the latex before I heard the condom being placed over Deke’s cock, but then he was gripping my waist tight and I was pushing my jeans down in a messy bunch. I slipped one leg free but left the other ankle in. I touched my clit for just a moment, just long enough to get that all-over shiver that comes with being hyperaware of your naughty bits. Need thumped in my cunt, beating heartily along with my pounding pulse.

‘Are you sure about this? I mean, I could just hold you so you’re not scared,’ he said. His voice said he meant it, but under the words I heard the hope in his voice.

It was my turn to smile.

‘I’m sure. I just hope this damn thing doesn’t start moving before everyone’s had an orgasm.’

‘They’re good for your health, I hear,’ he said, humour in his voice. But also the thick rough sound of desire.

‘Let’s see.’

I found him with my still shaking fingers – shaking now for a whole new reason – and ran the sheathed tip of his cock along my wet slit. He buried his face in my hair and wrapped an arm around my waist to steady me. When I raised my right knee up to get him in, he felt my motion and hooked his free arm under my knee to hold me open.

There was that one fumbling awkward moment of first entry and then he drove up and into me, my body so slick with want it took him greedily.

‘Welcome to town, Farrell,’ he said, thrusting deep. ‘And might I say –’ I kissed him quiet, rotating my hips just a bit. Already I was so close to coming I felt almost sad. I didn’t want it to be over that fast. And yet, the fear and the closeness and his kindness and – dear God, yes – the smell of this man had me on that razor’s edge.

‘I’m going to come, like … super fast,’ I admitted, rocking against him.

‘I’m going to be right behind you, I fear,’ he said.

Below us there was a clanking, grinding noise. ‘Uh-oh, I think we might be getting a speedier repair than expected.’

And then we were both laughing, that secretive almost hysterical laughter that comes with getting away with something. He slammed into me, high and hard and I pressed to him in small lazy rocking movements. Every thrust from Deke jarred my body with an intoxicating friction you cannot fake. It happens or it doesn’t. And God, yes, fuck, it was happening.

Finally – but somehow still too soon – my clit gave up a burst of joy and my cunt clamped down on him and I kissed him fiercely. When I bit his lower lip and gasped, ‘I’m coming,’ my new friend Deke groaned, and sighed out warm breath against my throat as he came.

The elevator rocked, dipped, growled with machinery. He dropped one more unexpected kiss on my lips and said, lips pressed to my ear, ‘I usually like to cuddle after, but unless you want to really enter town with a bang, I’d suggest we get ourselves –’

The elevator, dropped, caught, swayed and started to grind to life. The light came on and I was shoving my leg in my pants and zipping like a mad woman.

‘No cameras, right?’ I gasped.

‘Right. Cameras cost money and this building is as old as the dirt it’s built on.’

‘Thank God.’

When the doors opened wide we glanced at each other and smiled. He swept is hand forward. ‘Ladies first.’

I hurried out, happy to be on the solid ground. ‘Thanks. And hey, I don’t normally … I mean that’s the first time …’

‘I’m flattered. First time for me too.’

For a moment I thought he meant ever, which was laughable, but then he grinned. ‘In an elevator.’

‘Oh right! Right. Anyway, it was …’ I stuck my hand out feeling like an ass. ‘It was nice.’

‘Yes it was.’

‘To meet you,’ I snorted.

‘That too. Let me bring you some wine.’

‘Wine?’

‘Later.’

‘Later?’

He leaned against the railing that looked all the way down into the lobby. ‘Is there an echo in here?’

I blushed. ‘Sorry. I just … am very confused.’

‘We’ll discuss it over wine. Cool?’

‘Sure.’ I let out a long even breath to calm the flock of butterflies in my belly. ‘I’m at –’

‘213 Lady Bug Lane,’ Deke said.

‘I … how?’

‘If you stand on your front porch and look across the street …’

Uh-oh.

‘I’m the stone house to the left.’

Deke was one of the three little pigs!





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/sommer-marsden/boys-next-door/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.