Page 24 of His Good Girl
“You need to mind your own business, fucker,” he snarls behind me.
“Go away, kid. You don’t want to push me. Not now.”
“I could’ve got her back, but you had to stick your fucking nose in.”
“She would never be with a dick like you.”
“Are you fucking her?”
“Now, that’s none ofyourbusiness.” Stopping, I turn around and take in this dipshit with a death wish.
“I doubt it,” he taunts. “She's tied up tight, that one. Won’t open her legs for anyone. Frigid bitch.”
Hearing him say that about her drops the red haze of fury that is so easily accessible to me. Launching forward, I bunch my hand into his cheap shirt and plant my other fist in his face.
“Don’t speak about her that way,” I growl, punching him again. I’ve already broken his nose, he’s spluttering on his blood, but I’ve gone past the point in teaching him not to fuck with me. I want to hurt him. I want to kill him.
“She’s a fucking cunt,” he chokes. “A cock-tease.”
Does he not know when to give up?
My fist connects with his face a third time, and he goes down. Kicking him in the ribs, enjoying the sound of my shoe connecting with his ribs, he grunts and groans, curling up against the second kick.
I should stop.
Ineedto stop before I kill him.
But no one hurts Serena and gets away with it. Not anymore.
Bending over him, I haul him up by his shirt again and slam my fist into his face. Again and again, until I’m so lost in the blood, in the pain, that I barely feel it when my knuckles split open.
* * *
My eyes snap open.
Staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, I turn my head slightly to glance at the clock.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
It’s nine o’clock.
Thinking back, I don’t remember what time I went to bed. I don’t even remember going to bed. Shoving the covers back from my naked body, I wince when my left hand aches. Bringing it up to stare at it, last night floods back on an unwelcome tide. Scotch, Serena, and leaving that fucker who touched her for dead.
With a pounding head, I stand up, reaching for the bottle of water on the bedside table. Uncapping it, I gulp it all down, quenching my thirst caused by the hangover that is lingering on the edges of my consciousness.
Crossing over to the bathroom, my semi distracting me, I step into the shower and turn the jets on, relishing the freezing cold blast before it warms up almost instantly, sending shockwaves of pain slicing through my busted hand.
I groan softly, closing my eyes, and picture Serena’s hands on my hips, her fingers gripping them almost lovingly. Grabbing my cock, I almost feel her breath on my neck as I sink deeper into the fantasy. My fingers stroke faster and harder as my mind spins out more and more images of what I imagine her perfect body looks like naked. Her magnificent tits, her long blonde hair draping across her shoulders, her soft curves inviting my exploration. Groaning louder, my breath quickens as I imagine burying my face in her neck, inhaling her sweet scent, relishing how her skin would feel on my tongue, her taste lingering on my lips.
Thrusting my hips forward, I push my arousal into my palm as I grasp myself tightly. Faster and faster, pleasure building in my core. Sweat begins to dot my forehead, mingling with the hot shower water pounding down around me as I imagine Serena's lips trailing down my body, her hands exploring, before she plunges her hot mouth over the tip of my cock.
My breath comes in ragged pants as I grip my dick tighter, pumping my hips, feeling the warm water rush over my body. Serena's face swims before my eyes, her beautiful eyes gazing into mine. Climaxing with a loud grunt, pleasure flooding my whole body, I revel in the feeling of my balls expelling my cum over my hand, to be washed away, taking the evidence of my weakness for this delicate woman, whose cracks run deep and reflect in her eyes with it. Slumping against the shower wall, I regain my breath; shaking my head, I clean up, ignoring my injured hand. A faint smile plays on my lips as I turn the jets off and step out, wrapping a towel around my hips. The release has cleared my head, eased my tension, but with a crack of the memory whip, I recall what I said to Serena last night.
Two words uttered on instinct, without any thought going into them through my alcohol-infused mind.
“You dick,” I mutter and then turn my head sharply to the stairs when I hear the sounds of the coffee maker whirring away downstairs.
Without a second thought to my lack of clothing, I run down the stairs, stopping at the bottom when I see Quentin sitting at the dining table, a fresh mug of coffee in front of him. His gray suit and coat are spotless despite the rain still falling outside. His leg is crossed at the knee as he regards me with a cool, level stare that unnerves me, knowing I’m guilty of lusting after his niece.
