Page 21 of Never Kiss and Tell

She groans in satisfaction, stroking me with one hand, while the other reaches down to cup my balls. I close my eyes and lean back, using my hand in her hair to guide her. Blonde hair flashes behind my eyes, but it’s not the woman with my cock currently sliding down her throat. Striking blue eyes pierce straight through me, laying me bare. A skimpy pair of shorts. That fucking smile.

I startle Priscilla by pulling her off and stepping back. I let my jeans and boxers fall in a heap on the floor and climb over her. Reaching past her, I grab a condom out of the night stand.

“Thank God,” Priscilla mewls. “I’ve needed this.”

I bite my tongue and align myself at her entrance. Her fingernails graze my abs as she runs them down my torso. I actively work to turn my brain off when I push into her in one motion. She arches into me, moaning loudly, no doubt so my new neighbor can hear. I lean forward, flicking her nipple with my tongue and driving the thoughts of next door from my head.

Priscilla moans, loud enough for the houses down the blockto hear and I know she’s putting a show for Bailey. I can’t bring myself to stop her, though, some sick and twisted part of me knowing it’s going to piss Bailey off.

Tit for tat, princess. You parade in my backyard. I’ll make you wish you were the one in my bed right now.

I move deep inside Priscilla, suddenly powering into her with harsh, rough plunges. She screams my name loudly and the headboard beats against the wall. She tries to tug me down to kiss her, but I stay just out of her grasp. I don’t kiss Priscilla. I don’t kiss any casual fuck.

With a shrill cry, Priscilla comes on my cock, her tight body quivering underneath me. I reach under her and flip her over, powering into her so hard the sounds of skin meeting skin echo in the room. Blonde hair . . . blue eyes . . . I clench my eyes shut against the swell of my orgasm, burying my face in Priscilla’s neck as I come.

My vision blurry, I collapse onto the bed beside Priscilla, my heart hammering in my chest. I pull the rubber off and tie the end, tossing it in the can by the bed.

Priscilla leans on her elbow beside me, her fingers snaking up my chest.

“That was amazing. I’m sorry if I was too loud.”

I know she’s not.

“Can I spend the night?” she asks, smiling sweetly as her fingers graze over the hair under my navel.

“You know that’s not happening.”

“You’re such an asshole, Charlie,” she snaps, sitting up in the bed, away from me. I don’t have the strength or desire to comfort her. She came here for sex. I gave her sex. I wouldn’t fallinto Priscilla’s trap of a relationship again. I don’t wantanyrelationship. I would rather jerk off the rest of my life than have to worry about keeping a woman happy, again.

“Yet, you always want to come back.”

I stand from the bed and head for the shower. I should really watch my back around Priscilla. She’s been known to get violent when she doesn’t get her way, but I have more than a feeling that I can protect myself. Once, she pulled a kitchen knife on me when I told her I was going out with Jake after work.

I start the shower and step in, washing the sweat of the day off my aching body. Twelve hours on your feet is no easy task. Twelve hours day after day? Even worse. It’s not long before I hear Priscilla’s phone go off and then the front door slam.

I quickly wash my hair, knowing I’m the world’s biggest douche bag, but not really caring, either. Going after her would imply that I want the same thing she does.

I dry off and throw on some boxers before stepping out into the courtyard for a couple hits of a cigar before I go to bed. My eyes can’t help, but drift toward the room next to mine. All the lights are off, but I know she’s awake. There’s no way she can’t be, after Priscilla’s mouth.

I check the date on my phone. Only five weeks and three days until Bailey’s out of my hair. Let’s just hope we can get through this without killing each other.

Bailey

“I think the roses go best with the peonies.” Tamara King, of King’s Floral Boutique holds both options up for Andi and I to look at. Then she places a couple together, mimicking a bouquet.

“I don’t know,” Andi says, looking to me. “Don’t you think it’s too much?”

I nod. It is too much. Too . . . round.

I can tell Tamara is getting tired of us. We’ve been in her store for over an hour and we’ve yet to make a final decision.

I look through the flowers around us, plucking one of the pale pink roses from the vase behind Tamara. Andi launches into another string of questions, second guessing her colors for the fifth time this afternoon. I step around the women and hold my single rose up to other flowers, testing.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m not cut out to plan a wedding,” Andi complains.

“Andi,” I call, holding up my match to her.

She spins, her eyes zeroing in on the white lily and pinkrose combo, before her eyes start to water.

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