“Next time you see my face, cocksucker, you better run,” I warned, baring my teeth. “I hear you’re botherin’ my woman again and I will fuckin’ kill you.”
Wes blinked. He flexed his jaw.
“You hear me?” I snarled.
He nodded stiffly, breathing heavily through his nose before ordering, “Get the fuck off me.”
I released his shirt, dropping him onto the asphalt, where he continued to moan and hold his face. Then I turned and stalked away with Dash keeping strides next to me.
“Think he’ll go to the cops?” he asked.
I flexed my hand. “He does, I’ll deal with it.”
“Probably just raise questions. His wife will want to know why you hit him.”
Dash was right. I didn’t think Wes was wanting to risk that. He wouldn’t say shit.
“Surprised you talked,” Dash offered up with humor in his voice.
“See? That right there.” I fake glared at him. “Where’s the faith, brother?”
He grinned.
I gave him one back. Then I looked away, laughing.
Chapter Eleven
TORI
I was showered. Shaved. My skin was moisturized and smelling like warm vanilla sugar. I had a clean face, no makeup, though my cheeks were pink and looking like I was wearing something on them. That was due to a combination of the water temperature I used and my nerves getting to me. My breath was minty and fresh. My hair was down and partially dried, looking extra wavy since I didn’t blow it out. And my fingernails were still a little tacky from the top coat I applied a few minutes ago, doing this because the black and pink polish I had on them was starting to look drab.
Why I thought my nails had to be on point for what I was about to do, I had no idea. It had to be my nerves. I was overpreparing. I doubt Jamie would notice my shiny polish. And honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.
If I was standing naked in front of Jamie McCade and the only thing he was focusing on was the upkeep of my manicure, I had bigger problems to worry about.
We were about to have sex. A lot of it, I was guessing. And although my body was ready for this thanks to the measures I’d just taken, I wasn’t sure about the rest of me.
My mind was going a mile a minute. My heart was beating so fast I felt like I was on something. I was terrified. I was turned on. I was worried this was a mistake.
But I knew once we got started, I’d stop thinking and overthinking. Jamie would kiss me and I’d do what I always seemed to do when I felt his lips against mine and his grip on my skin.
I’d kiss him back. I’d grip him harder. I’d match his desperation with my own and give in to the feelings overwhelming me.
I’d let myself like him.
The second Jamie touched me, my brain would shut off and stop giving me the biggest freak-out of my life.
But until that happened, I’d continue doing what I was doing, which included standing in the bathroom wearing nothing but a white fluffy towel cinched under my arms, staring at my reflection in the mirror and the signs of my anxiety, all while running through positions, topics of conversation to use during moments of silence, if we had any, and the hundred reasons why having sex with Jamie McCade was a terrible idea.
Position-wise, I really had no idea what to expect.
He was fit, appeared to be limber, and had years of experience, I was certain.
Jamie didn’t look like sweet, simple missionary sex. Not even when he smiled. Those dimples were a ploy he used as bait. He was mischief. He was late-night sneaking around when you had a curfew and a father with a shotgun.
He didn’t care. Jamie took what he wanted. He didn’t say please, he said now. And worse, he knew whatever he was asking for, you wanted just as bad as he did.
No. Jamie wasn’t staring into your eyes while he took you soft and lovingly.
He was down and dirty doggy-style or up against a wall in a public bathroom. Hand-muffled screams and toys in his closet.
He was dark desires. He was what you thought of late at night while you lie in bed next to someone else.
So, position-wise, I was completely unprepared.
Awesome.
That wasn’t really helping with my nerves.
In terms of conversation, I was primed to hit him with a range of topics. Anything from the weather to the ingredients I used in my chili recipe.
Silent moments with Jamie led to my mind going into hyper-overdrive. I was prepared to shut that shit down, even if I sounded crazy rattling off lists of my favorite things or naming objects in the room.
Lamp.
Chaise recliner.
Pierced dick under the blanket.
My stomach clenched.
I blinked at my wide-eyed reflection as reason number one hundred and one why this was a terrible idea hit me like a ton of bricks.
I had zero experience with dick piercings.
I didn’t know how they felt. If they hurt or enhanced pleasure for women, and if that was the case, just how much pleasure they were capable of delivering. Would it be too good, ruining me for normal, undecorated cock for the rest of my life and turning me into some Craigslist creepster who trolled for boys with naughty jewelry, or would I hate it and call this entire thing off the second he pushed in? I had no idea.
And considering how unprepared I was for the type of sex Jamie was into, was there a risk of injury? Or if the mood hit me, was there a chance I might chip a tooth on this thing?
Shit. How hard was that metal?
I snatched my phone off the bathroom counter and clicked on my Safari app. Then I typed in “prince albert piercings” with the intentions of doing some thorough research.