Page 8 of Crazy Good
It took more self control than I knew I possessed to walk out of that woman’s office without saying anything else, or just bending her over the desk and fucking her senseless. This pit in my stomach would be gone if that had happened. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy, though. The challenge to bag her while she screams my name is now the only thing that consumes my thoughts.
A new layer to the game surfaces—I want her to care about me. I want her to give a shit. I want the very thought of my absence to cause her physical pain.
“You know what?” I whisper to myself as I pass Garth’s office. “What the fuck. Why not?”
I turn around and grip the doorknob to his office and blast inside. I cock my head to the side at Garth’s startled appearance. He holds his desk phone to his ear.
“Uhh,” he says into the receiver, “he just got here.” He pauses again as he listens to the female voice on the other end, a voice that can only be Windsor’s. Garth holds up a finger in the air. Seriously? This little prick is telling me to wait? “Sure, Win. Drinks sound good. Tonight?”
Windsor shoots me down and asks this asshole out? Not even minutes after I leave.Win?He uses a nickname, too and it sounds intimate and familiar. I want to crack his skull against a wall. I want to use her nickname.
Reel it in, Mav.Why do I care what he calls her? I don’t give a shit. Garth is fucking with my game. That’s why it pisses me off. That’s it. Nothing else.
“Captain’s at 8 o’clock,” he whispers, probably trying to be discreet because I’m staring him down. He hangs up the phone and smiles a goofy fucking smile. Because Windsor asked him out. I’d have that smile if she said yes to me. Now, I get to see what it looks like first hand.
“Ms. Forbes said you’d be coming over,” he says.
Now she’s Ms. Forbes. Fucking convenient. My hands are shaking at my sides. I can’t control them. When I hear the papers I still carry rustle, I know I have to get the fuck out of here before I explode. I want a drink.
No you don’t.
I need to fuck something. I know getting laid won’t even appease me. The game is now fucking with my head and my damn dick. I realize I haven’t said anything to this pansy prick.
“I already got everything I need,” I say, confusing him. I turn around and blaze out of the stifling office building as quickly as I can. I slink a leg over to mount my motorcycle, the only thing I’ll get between my thighs today, and shake my head. This whole afternoon is shot to shit. The rumble of the engine does little to soothe me, so I push the accelerator faster, urging it to take me where I need to go.
Captain’s at 8 o’clock.
Chapter Five
Maverick
“Just screw her, dude. It’s easy. Pull the thong down or rip it off and shove your dick in there and bump it around. Ahh yeah,” Stone says.
Soaping up my hair I let a chuckle slip. We’re in the showers after a long ass workout. I hit it hard. My shoulders are sore and no matter how long I stand in the lukewarm water, my skin burns. Images of Morganna and her thong flit through my head and I wince a little. Won’t be telling Stone that. Windsor wasn’t at Captain’s when I casually stopped by the night of her date with Garth. Her absence only made me think she was probably screwing him at home in her bed. The thought of him in her bed enraged me. If I couldn’t have her, I didn’t want anyone else to either.
“Why are you doing this to yourself? The Maverick fuck club is extensive. Bag one of your many admirers. Don’t get bent dicked about the one who won’t have you.”
After the no-show date I fucked four girls this week, but I didn’t tell Stone that. I wanted to prove to myself and to Windsor that I was fine. That it didn’t matter what game I was playing, I still hadit. Each chick was equally excited to be worked over and I just didn’t care. I wasn’t into it. I got off…barely with the last one.
You know what I had to think of to get there? Blue Eyes on her knees, whale eyeing me, lips wrapped around the base of my cock, while she fingered herself and hummed my name. I tossed the girl out of my hotel room the second I ripped the condom off my dick, so disturbed with the mental image of Windsor. I jacked off three more times that night to the same mental image, or some variation. Always Windsor. Always saying my name. Always her hands on me. I choke on the mental image now.
I shut off the water and wrap a towel on my hips, before I pop wood and have to ante up my mental images of Windsor, because I’d have to offer up something to Stone as explanation. “I need to talk to her. I just need to talk to her,” I say. I half hope he doesn’t hear me sounding like such a pussy. I already have her cell number and I’ve almost dialed it a few times, but I haven’t. I’m stronger than that. Or so I’ve told myself.
It’s Saturday morning and I haven’t seen her face, in person, since Monday. I paused the game for the week so I could try to figure out what exactly I wanted or needed from her. Why the game? What was it about her? Could I fuck someone else and get over her? When the last one didn’t work, I knew I had to try to see where this went. I have to fucking date Windsor on the regular. Try to get to know her and do my best to find something wrong with her—something really awful that I can’t stand. Then she won’t be this unobtainable dick-sucking queen. She’ll just be another bag I can forget.
Stone groans behind me, still in the shower. “Morg will fucking kill me if I tell you this. Look,” he says.
I turn. My eyes are drawn down because he has his dick and balls tucked between his legs. His pubes are the only thing visible. It’s calledthe goat. The fucking asshole got me. He laughs loudly. I meet his eyes, smiling, and shake my head. I’m going to belt buckle that son of a bitch the next chance I get. He knows it, so he makes the most of his jab.
“Do you want to fuck me, Mavvy? My vagina is so tight, it’s like a magic twat or a vice grip wormhole,” he says in a high, fake girl voice. “I walk dogs on Saturday mornings at 10 on the beach in front of the Hilton.” He rubs both of his hands over his large pectorals and cups them, circling his damn nipples. His voice sounds like a fucking transvestite with throat cancer. “Maybe you can come make me into a sugar cookie?” Stone purrs.
That’s it. I lunge forward and lay a fist into his stomach and retreat quickly. He curls into himself, his shoulder hitting the back of the shower room wall, laughing through gasping breaths.
“You’re a fucktard, Stone. If you wanted to homie glide, all you had to do was ask,” I say. I don’t really want his dick gliding between my butt cheeks, but I’d do almost anything else for him. He’s my bro. He’s got my back always. Down range and home and pretty much anywhere else. He’s known me my whole life. Not only do we share the same legal first name, Thomas, but I dealt with his vagina dick way before we decided to be professional badasses. It’s why I would do anything for him. We went through BUD/s and SEAL qualification training together; bitching and moaning about night sweats and the inability to sleep, and how Hell Week was for pussies. Which it wasn’t; it was torture, but we’d never say that to each other. We are the same—him and I, strong for each other and strong for our teammates. You fuck with him and you are automatically fucking with me. It’s like that with all my brothers. They are the closest things to family I’ve ever really had.
My real family only gave me a trust fund and a nice pat on the ass out the door because I wasn’t like them. I would never be like them. Of course I appreciate the money; it affords me to do whatever the fuck I want. I can follow my dreams. I can kick ass for a living.
The money doesn’t make Henry and Barbara Hart my family, though. It makes them large donating entities to fund my fucking. Because I never bag girls at my house. Ever. Hotels are my first choice and their place comes in second. My house is too personal, says too much about me. I don’t want them to know anything about me. Except that my dick is hard and they should do something about it.
