Chasing Rhodes (Rock Falls #1) (5 page)

Jackson and I dated for two years and broke up a little over a month ago. He’s one of Jami’s best friends, which is why it should have crossed my mind that he might be here tonight, but I also thought my jackass friend would have given me the heads-up.
Thanks for nothing Jamison!

Jackson looks handsome as always, but to someone who knows him as well as I do, you can see that he hasn’t slept in days. I instantly feel like an asshole for being here. Jackson was the perfect boyfriend until he’d have a manic episode. When he went manic, Jackson was an entirely different person. One minute, he would be ecstatic and wanting to lasso the moon for me, and the next, he’d become violent and aggressive or depressed and suicidal.

It isn’t the same as when you have a bad day or mood swings when you’re PMSing. Jackson has manic depression, otherwise known as bipolar disorder. His extremes—and they are extreme in every way—can last for several weeks or longer. It is an absolute living hell for him, and because I loved him, it was hell for me too. The day he put his hand through a two-pane glass window was the last straw. We weren’t in love anymore, and I had become his crutch.

The day I called our relationship off was one of the hardest days in my life. He cried and begged me not to go. It broke my heart. I loved Jackson, and I will always carry a special place in my heart for him, but our relationship was killing us both slowly and someone had to save us. He will always be my friend but nothing more than that.

I must have been lost in my own head for longer than I’d noticed because the girls are still staring at me expectantly, waiting for my cue. God bless them. They would walk out of this bar in two seconds if I asked them to, but I won’t. You have to start somewhere and now is as good a time as any for Jackson and me to try and ‘be friends.’
I’m a walking cliché. Great.

I straighten my shoulders, muster up all the false bravado I can, and tell the girls, “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

It only takes about five more steps before Jay notices us and comes to dish out his famous bear hugs. “Lookin’ good, ladies!” He gives Lennon and me a wink before picking Beth up and spinning her around, the attention making her blush.

Jay is definitely not my sister’s type. She likes serious, stuffy, clean-cut guys in suits, while Jay is a tattoo artist who doesn’t take anything too seriously, not even himself. That being said, I’ve seen the way she looks at him and I’d be willing to bet money it’s not all PG-rated thoughts running through her mind.

Jami stands to give us all a hug and pulls over a few more stools. Unlucky for me, I end up stuffed between Jami and Jackson.
Whatever. I guess this is what Mary Katherine Gallagher meant in Superstar when she said that you should just jump into the pool instead of testing the waters first. Ugh. I have to stop using movie references to sum up my life. Especially that movie. She makes out with a tree in that movie. Oh God, I hope that’s not in my future.

I shake off my ridiculous train of thought and give Jackson my best I-hope-you-don’t-hate-me smile. “Hey, Jackson.”

“Hey, Hannah. Yur lukin’ good,” he slurs reaching over to put a hand on my arm.

Aw shit. He’s drunk. I didn’t mentally prepare for drunk Jackson. He is always handsy and he really shouldn’t be drinking on his medication.

“How long have you guys been here?” I say to the table, hoping to draw some attention away from me and back to the group.

“Not long. Only about twenty minutes. I had to wait for these douche canoes to finish shaving their vaginas before we could go.” Everyone bursts out in a collective, “Ewww!” and shakes their heads. Jay really has no boundaries. He grins and takes a pull from his beer. That’s exactly the reaction he was looking for from us.

We’ve been here for about an hour, and despite being worried that this would be awkward, I’m actually having a really good time. Although that could be because I’m sporting a buzz that would make a frat boy jealous, but who cares. I feel fantastic! Jackson hasn’t made any other attempts to touch me and is barreling his way down a bottle of scotch.
He really isn’t doing well,
I think sadly and make a mental note to talk to the guys about him when we’re sober. We’re all drinking pretty heavily, but at the rate he’s going, he’s going to end up passed out under the table.

“I want to shake what my mama gave me!” Beth screams and jumps up from her stool, shaking her ass around.

“Our mama didn’t give you anything!” I laugh at her. “She gave it all to me, you skinny bitch!”

She sticks her tongue out at me because she knows it’s true and pulls Lennon and me out to the dance floor.

Beth drags us into the middle of the packed dance floor just as “Shiver” by Sean Desman comes blasting through the speakers. I may be a country girl at heart, but I love this song. The beat is slow and sexy and such a turn-on. I instinctively start rolling my hips to the music and throw my hands above my head. It’s hot and I can feel myself starting to sweat. The girls and I have formed a circle, all facing the middle. It’s easier to ward off unwanted attention this way, not that they don’t still try.

I’m running my hands slowly down the front of my body when I feel an arm come across my waist from behind, dragging my body backwards. I don’t usually enjoy dancing with strangers, but somewhere between the tequila, the music, and the way his hard body feels pressed against mine, I decide I don’t care.

The track swaps and “U Got it Bad” by Usher comes on. My eyes are closed and I let my head fall back on his chest, feeling the bass vibrate through my body as I rub my ass back and forth on his jeans. He’s hard. I can feel him pressing into my backside, and it’s only spurring me on. I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck. He’s tall and if it wasn’t for my heels, I probably wouldn’t have been able to reach him. His hand slips lower down on my stomach and I shiver. Just a few inches lower and he’d be touching me where I really need it.

I can feel his scruff on my face as he whispers into my ear, “I want to taste you, Hannah.”

I stiffen briefly as I recognize the voice and his smell washes over me.
Greyson.
My pussy clenches.
Fuck me, he even smells like sex.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” he demands and begins leading us from the dance floor.

I’m in such a lust-induced haze that I don’t even notice Lennon and Beth’s slack-jawed faces as we leave them behind on the dance floor.

His hand is firmly placed in the small of my back, and I fucking love how possessive it feels as he leads us towards the back of the bar. He pushes open the door to the large bathroom that says ‘STAFF ONLY’ and locks the door behind him. I’m not drunk, but I still have enough of a buzz that I don’t feel intimidated by him in the small space. He stalks over to me in two long steps, placing a hand on the counter on either side of my hips effectively trapping me.

“I missed you,” he growls, running his nose from my collarbone to my ear.
Oh God, that fucking growling again.
“Did you really think you could wear this sexy little dress here and I wouldn’t notice you?” he says, nipping at my throat. “You shouldn’t be able to wear this in public. It’s criminal.” He’s dragging his finger across the swell of my breasts and I can feel my body quivering at the light touch.

“Please,” I gasp, moving to touch him. He grabs my wrists before I can reach him and pulls them behind my back, holding them there with one hand.

“You can’t touch me yet, Hannah. I hated seeing those other men look at you. I think you should have to pay for that.”

I’m whimpering now. I can’t help it. I’m worked into a complete frenzy and he’s barely touched me.

“Do you think I should punish you for that, sweetheart?” His mouth is on my ear and I can feel his hot breath every time he speaks.

“Oh God. Please. Yes.”

“Please what, Hannah? I want you to say it.”

“Please. Punish me, Greyson. Now!”
I don’t even care that I’m begging. At this point, I’d agree to anything just to have him give me some relief.

He pulls the cups of my dress down, exposing my heavy breasts, and growls before sucking one of my nipples in his mouth.
Oh God.
I pull at my wrists, which are still behind my back, but he won’t let them go. The sensation of having him bite and suck my nipples and not being able to touch him is driving me crazy. I try and push my knees together to cause some friction between my legs, an attempt to ease this torture, but he shoves his knee between my legs, allowing me no relief.

He looks up at me through heated, blue eyes as my nipple pops out of his mouth.
Fuck, that’s hot.
He doesn’t break eye contact with me as I feel his hand slide between my spread thighs. He groans.

“You’re not wearing panties, sweetheart. I should punish you for that too, but because you’re being such a good girl, I’ll save that for next time.”

This dress is too tight to wear panties,
I think to myself. Or say out loud. I can’t really be sure, and the moment his bare hand cups my pussy, I really don’t give a flying fuck.

“You’re fucking dripping wet, Hannah,” he says, slipping two fingers inside my warm sex.

I moan, throwing my head back.
I just need a little more. Fuck. Just a little more and I can come.
I’m considering begging him again when he pinches my clit.

“Fuck me!” I scream.

“I intend to, sweetheart,” he says, giving me a cocky half grin as he starts an unrelenting rhythm with his fingers, pumping them in and out of me while he rubs his thumb on my clit.

It doesn’t take long before I’m crying out my release and my body is sagging against the countertop behind me.

Greyson’s looking at me with hooded eyes as he pulls his hand from under my dress and sucks his fingers into his mouth. “So fucking sweet.”

Lord have mercy. I think I just came again watching him suck my come off his fingers.

He lets go of my wrists and turns me around to face the mirror. “Put your hands on the counter and bend over.” Something in the tone of his voice has me doing exactly as he asks. He uses his foot to spread my legs wider and pulls my dress up over my ass, giving it a light smack that sends a shot straight to my clit. “Look at me in the mirror, Hannah. I want you to watch me fuck you.”

I look up, and the scene in front of me has me clenching my inner walls.

The front of my dress is pulled down and my tits are spilling over the top, swollen and red from his love bites. My face is flushed and my green eyes are wild. Greyson is standing behind me, his jeans undone, pumping his hand up and down his thick shaft as he watches me in the mirror. His other hand pressed against my lower back, bracing himself. I lick my lips as he slowly rolls a condom on, wiggling my ass in anticipation. He teases me at first, sliding the tip of his cock between my folds and coating it in my pussy juices.

“Fuck me, Greyson. Please. I want your cock inside of me.” I barely have the words out before he slams into me, all the way to the hilt of his beautiful dick.
I feel so full. He’s fucking huge, but it feels fantastic.

He gives me enough time to adjust to his size before he starts thrusting in and out of me. He’s grabbing my hips so hard that I’m sure there will be bruises tomorrow, but I don’t care. He slips a hand around to my front and starts rubbing my clit. I can feel my orgasm building. I’m so close. When I finally come, I come so hard I think I black out. I might have screamed his name, but I honestly don’t know, and by the time I come to, he’s shouting out my name to his own release.

He’s still inside me, half collapsed on my back and looking at me in the mirror. “Please come home with me tonight, Hannah.”

I don’t know if it’s because he just fucked me to within an inch of my life or if it’s because he said please, but I answer him. “Okay, Greyson. Take me home.”

I
TEXT THE
girls to let them know that I’m leaving and likely won’t be back tonight. I don’t bother to tell them in person out of respect for Jackson. Broken up or not, he shouldn’t have to watch me leave with another man looking thoroughly fucked.

Greyson leads me to coat check so I can retrieve my jacket and we start heading for the parking lot, his hand placed again at the small of my back.
God, I fucking love when he does that.
We have almost reached his truck when it occurs to me that he plans on driving us home.

“I’m not getting in that”—I wave towards the truck—“with you if you’ve been drinking,” I state. Our small town has lost too many young people to drinking and driving and I don’t intend on adding myself to that list.

He pulls me into his side and kisses my temple. “I wasn’t drinking tonight, sweetheart. I would never put you in danger.”

I pull away to look in his eyes. They aren’t glassy and his breath doesn’t smell like alcohol. Satisfied that he’s telling the truth, I let him help me into the passenger’s side of his monstrous truck. His large hands linger on my thighs before he closes the door and runs around to get in his side. The muscles in his arm flex as he starts the truck and it roars to life.
This truck is sexy as hell. Sexier than Clifford. That’s for damn sure,
I think to myself, running my hands along the black, leather interior. The truck’s cold air intake purrs when he punches the gas and I feel it rumble through my chest.
Well that thing they say about guys and big trucks certainly isn’t true. I’ve just witnessed firsthand what he’s packing in his jeans, and it isn’t small. In fact, I’m certain I’ll be feeling the effects of our bathroom rendezvous tomorrow.