CODY STEPS OUT OF HIS CONDO when I shove the key into my lock. It’s after midnight, and I smell like smoke and stripper perfume after spending too many hours watching women writhing around poles while my father talked business with his newest victim.
The man didn’t pay me any heed. He barely even looked at me when I arrived, too busy salivating at the much bustier and curvier girls than me working the poles.
But I wasn’t excused until my father shook hands with the man, his smile dazzling, fucking blinding in all its flakiness. Tonight must’ve been the fastest deal Gideon Fitzpatrick ever closed. I bet the fat envelope he slipped into Mr. Whatever’s hand helped speed the process, but it’s unusual for my father to willingly hand out bribes.
The deal must’ve been one he couldn’t afford to lose. Still, giving money away isn’t a decision Dad takes lightly.
“Where were you?” Cody asks, his icy tone demanding my attention. “Who was that asshole screaming at you earlier?”
My body ignites at the sight of his sweatpants hanging low, bare feet, and bare chest. Since the night we spent together, I’ve been walking around hot and bothered whenever he invades my mind. I wake up drenched in sweat from intense dreams and finish the job using my purple wand. I’ve mastered using it, but it’s nowhere near as good as Cody.
My cheeks heat more, filthy thoughts on display as I watch him tug from a bottle of Corona, glaring at me like I’ve killed his pet snake.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
Playing dumb probably won’t work on him, but I can try.
He scoffs, shaking his head, clearly disappointed in my answer. “Ana said he dragged you out of here like a fucking dog, Blair. Who was he?”
“It’s none of your business.” I turn to go inside, but Cody leaps forward, gently cuffing his fingers around my wrist.
“I’m making it my business, B.” He steps closer, backing me against the wall.
“Who was he? Your boyfriend?”
Blood sings in my ears. God, he sounds… he sounds jealous. Possessive. Territorial with how his fingers sink into my flesh, hard enough to send a message but not hard enough to hurt.
“Stop asking questions. Please.”
“I’m not forcing you to answer.” He moves his hand to trace the line of my hip, looming over me, his brown irises dancing across my face and body, two lines creasing his forehead when he takes in my dress. “You look…” He pauses, scrunching his nose like he caught a bad stench. “You look better in jeans.”
“So polite,” I mock.
Or try to mock, but my words come out as breathless as I feel when he’s crowding my personal space, the heat of his body engulfing me whole.
He’s so damn big.
I’m not short. Five-six is not short. Add my three-inch heels, and we’re close to eye level, but his broad chest and big arms make me feel like small prey. “You wanted to say I look like a whore. I know. No need to point it out. I own a mirror.”
“Then why do you dress like this?”
“It’s none of your business!” I drop my gaze, hiding from his scrutiny, and another thrill passes through me at what I discover.
He’s hard.
And I’m so wet… Feverish with need, dazed by his presence, desperate for another night. Desperate to nip this topic in the bud and stop him asking uncomfortable questions.
“The lines we crossed two weeks ago aren’t as significant as those you’re trying to cross now.” Without thinking, I run my fingers along the obvious bulge and squeeze gently, but he grabs my wrist, forcing my hand away. “Stop asking questions, Cody. I promise I’m not worth it. Take a step back, and… if you want to cross lines, stick to those we already crossed.”
Feeling bold, I wriggle my hand free and move it back where I started, though this time I slip my fingers inside his sweats and grasp the base of his thick, warm shaft, pumping slowly.
He falls forward, bracing one arm on the wall, eyes hooding over as his primitive need takes center stage.
“Should I stop?”
“Fuck no,” he groans, thrusting into my touch. “Good job derailing the conversation.”
I watch a restless muscle feather his chiseled jaw, my blood growing hotter, my mind skipping ahead to him using me to get off. I love how quickly he can lose control and seize it back whenever he wants.
Rising on my toes, I lean in, my warm breath fanning his ear. “I’d do this faster with my mouth.”
With another low groan, he loops one arm under my butt, hauling me into his arms, a beer still in the other hand that he promptly sets aside as we step into his condo.
“I’ve imagined fucking that sweet no-gag-reflex throat of yours since you swallowed me down. You got anything to say?”
A small smile twists my lips when he sets me on his bedroom floor, ever so carefully. I shimmy out of my dress straps, tugging it down to expose my boobs.
“Don’t come in my mouth.”
“The only place I’ll come will be your pussy.” He drops a pillow by the wall. “Lose the heels and kneel.”
I find it incredibly endearing that he’s worried about me bruising my knees. I don’t know why that’s so sweet, but the soft dom vibes I’m getting from him make me melt.
I whip my hair over one shoulder and look up, loving the sight of Cody’s strong thighs and long, thick cock proudly standing to attention, begging for my touch.
“You’re sure you’re okay letting me do this?” he asks, his voice low, hoarse. The sentence ends with a groan when I angle my neck so it’s easier for him to slide in. “Words, B.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Giving him a quick reminder of what my lips feel like wrapped around him, I swallow him down and slip him back out, looking up. “Do your worst.”
He grabs my hand, setting it over his thigh. “Tap out if I’m taking it too far.”
“I won’t.”
His nostrils flare, and his patience wears off.
I might be coming across as experienced, but the truth is, despite having a lot of meaningless sex, I’ve gone down on two other men total, and I never allowed either of them to use me the way I want Cody to use me.
Seeing the abyss of his black pupils, hearing his breath falter, those low, primitive groans… it’s unlike any euphoria I’ve experienced. It’s addictively freeing, letting him do as he pleases.
I feel safe despite handing over control.
Maybe because he’s fixated on consent. Or because of those soft dom vibes and how his eyes lose their hard edge when he looks down at me… or maybe because I’m so into him I want all he offers.
He slides in all the way, legs bucking as he sucks in a harsh breath. I love when he does that. I love those audible, primal sounds he can’t control.
“You really don’t have a gag reflex,” he says, staring like I hold the answers to life’s most important questions. “Fuck, baby… you’re beautiful on your knees.”
Slowly, he pulls out, then slides back in, my cheeks purposely hollow, my tongue curled to lick the underside as he sets a pace. Another pleasant sensation spreads inside me when Cody cradles the back of my head, so it won’t bang against the wall with every thrust.
I’m shaking, grinding my thighs together, searching for a bit of friction the faster he pumps, chasing his climax. The guttural moans falling from his lips drive me incoherent.
I can’t get enough of how he watches me, his eyes glazed over. I’m the one who leaves him this desperate, this satisfied.
The salty, pungent taste of him coats my tongue, precum leaking every time he hits the wall of my throat, sliding further until I swallow him whole.
Again and again… the faster he pumps, the slicker my thighs and the harder I suck, ravenous for that moment when he stops fighting his orgasm and lets it consume him.
“Fuck,” he growls, easing up, both hands softly cupping my face as he pulls out. “I won’t come unless you come with me, B.”
Helping me up, he spins me around, pins my open palms to the wall, and locks my wrists in his grip. With the other hand, he yanks my dress up.
“Are you always walking around commando?” he grinds out, throwing back the question I asked him the first time we fucked. He follows it with a stinging slap on my butt that makes me wetter. “Where the fuck are your panties?”
“Stop asking questions,” I plead, my voice catching when I feel his cock slide across my pussy. “Either fuck me or get your hands off me.”
He rests his forehead against the back of my head, gripping my hips. “Keep your hands on the wall, B.” A groan of approval resounds when the head of his cock juts against my entrance. “On your toes for me.”
I rise as high as possible when he slams into me, making my whole body spasm. “God, this angle…” I throw my head back, arching into his hurried strokes. “So good.”
“That it is. It’ll be even better when you start squirting.” He ups the pace, pumping in and out faster against my G spot with measured precision, and before long, his arm circles my waist, holding me upright. “Good girl, don’t fight it. Soak me.”
The orgasm hits, blurring my vision, and the pressure of my squirting pushes him back.
“Best thing ever. One more, okay? Give me another.” He drives himself home hard and fast, beckoning another orgasm to the surface within seconds.
I tremble like an uncoiled spring, wave after wave of small orgasms assaulting my senses, the floor wet under our feet, the room hot, stuffy, and reeking of sex.
“Such a good fucking girl when you want to be,” Cody whispers, pressing his hand between my shoulder blades until my back is almost as level as a table. “So obedient. So fucking submissive… You know what I like, don’t you, baby?”
He gathers my hair, wraps it around his wrist, and drives into me fast. The sound of his hips slapping against mine as he hate-fucks me is the most erotic thing in the world. Our moans, gasps, and sucked-in labored breaths mix in the air, tuning out reality until it’s just us. Just him working himself into me, every stroke designed as the sweetest punishment.
I feel the telltale change of impending climax in his movements. An injection of panic seizes my muscles because he didn’t grab a condom, but just as I part my lips to remind him, he pulls out, painting my back with warm jets of cum, his hips jerking in sync with the quiet curses falling from his lips.
“Shit,” he pants, slapping my sore butt—gently this time. “Looks like we’ve got a fucking problem here, B.”
I tense immediately, but his soft lips stamping the nape of my neck counter it.
“I already want to do this again,” he admits, and with the last lingering kiss on my skin, he turns me around. “You think we can keep this up for a while without you catching feelings?”
His cum trickles down my spine, pooling at the base where his arm circles my back, firmly holding me to him. Unable to stop myself, I brush back a strand of his dark hair that fell out of the bun.
“You’re asking if we can casually fuck until we’re both sated, then stop without me ending up stalking you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
I wish I could say my heart didn’t speed up at the prospect, but that’d be a blatant lie. I already caught feelings. When he held me all night, helping me cage my demons without even knowing how much I needed that comfort.
But I can put a cap on those feelings if I get amazing orgasms and a bit of closeness in return.
“Under one condition,” I say, mindlessly tracing patterns on his pec. “One we probably share anyway.”
“Fire away.”
“No one can find out.”
He narrows those brown, gorgeous eyes. “I know why I’d rather keep this between us, but you… What’s your reason?”
“You ask too many questions.” Rising on my toes to peck his lips one last time, I wiggle out of his embrace, stepping into the bathroom. “Take it or leave it.”
He follows, wetting a fresh washcloth under warm water before gently cleaning my back. “I should start using condoms, so I’m not making a mess of you every time, but I really don’t want to miss how good it feels when you’re squirting all over my cock.”
“I’m making a mess of you. It’s fair you make a mess of me, too.”
I don’t add that it’s fitting since I’m a huge mess inside. Instead, I grab another washcloth and wipe his cock. It’s still at half-mast and probably wouldn’t need much attention to rise back to full glory.
“So?” I drop the cloth in the sink. “Do we have a deal?”
He tries to kiss me, but I arch away, knowing damn well I need to set some boundaries if we’re going to participate in extracurricular activities. Kissing was okay when I thought one night was all I’d get or when I thought, just a few moments ago, that this was the last time we’d fuck, but if it’s going to be more regular, kisses are out of the question. I love his mouth too much to risk it.
“We’re supposed to be working out the sexual tension,” I say when he cocks an eyebrow. “Kisses are intimate, and intimate might turn problematic.”
“And sex isn’t intimate?”
“Not the way we just did it.”
He smirks, lifting his hands in defeat. “Fine. Have it your way. No kissing. Anything else?”
“Yes. No interaction outside the bedroom. No more cookies, no helping with babysitting, no helping with shopping. No more questions. Let’s not blur the lines, okay?”
He grinds his teeth, probably not happy about the no-questions part. The whole point of him cornering me out in the hallway was so he could learn about the things I refuse to share. I hope to take my dirty little secret to the grave.
And that’s why I’m imposing the no-questions rule. My crush on Cody is something real, but I know better than to think or hope we could evolve into something real. There’s too much ugly history, baggage, and hurt that can’t be overlooked outside feral, primal, bedroom lust.
Sex is physical. While it can lead to emotions, if we set iron-clad boundaries, we’ll get what we want from this arrangement without risking too much.
I get to feel in control of my body. Since my traumatic first time, I’ve used sex to erase the feel of the sixty-year-old pervert’s hands on me. I never enjoyed it the way I enjoy it with Cody. His insistence on communication and consent helps tear down the walls my mind built that fateful night.
I worked through the trauma mentally with my therapist, and now, thanks to Cody, I’ll work through it physically so that one day I won’t dread the idea of commitment.
And, obviously, sex with Cody is a fantasy come true. A fantasy I was too embarrassed and scared to dream about since I laid eyes on him my first day of college.
I’m not sure what Cody wants out of our deal. He can have any girl he wants, but right now he wants me, so why the hell not?
“You’re driving a hard bargain,” he says, lifting his hand to toy with my nipple. “But I think a step back is a good idea, so yeah, let’s revert to heys and replace the talking and working through our bullshit with sex.”
I try not to get hung up on the spite in his voice. He’s annoyed he won’t find out who the man he heard over the phone is, where I was tonight, and why I’m not wearing underwear.
“You’re pouting,” I say, dragging my nails along the underside of his stiffening cock. “Want me to work that frustration out of you, baby boy?” I inject enough sarcasm into the endearment to drive my point home.
His teeth gnash between his lips. “You don’t like it when I call you baby girl?”
I love it. I always cringed when I heard guys call their girls that because, from the observer’s point of view, it’s just so lame, but the desire coating his voice when it’s aimed at me… not lame at all. Nothing sounds lame on Cody’s lips.
But again, pet names fall on the wrong side of the line. “Save it for someone special,” I say, looking down because his cock swells in my palm, the tip leaking precum once more. “I think you’re ready for round two.”
“I think I am,” he agrees, gripping my hips and setting me by the sink, his fingers finding my clit. “Are you sore, B?”
“Not one bit.”
“You’re about to be.” He smiles darkly, guiding himself in. “Tap out if I’m too rough.”
I gasp and cling to his broad shoulders when he slams into me. “Like I said. I can handle a hate-fuck.”
“Good…” he breathes in my ear, bottoming out inside me. “…hate fucks are suddenly my favorite.”
