His Plaything (6 page)

“A-Avery … I'm gonna…” My words dissolved in a ragged groan as she sucked even harder. I bit my lip and came in long spurts that left my whole body tingling—and she swallowed every drop. Before either of us could catch our breath, I pulled her up my body into a deep, fiery kiss. My spent cock twitched at the taste of my cum in her mouth. Jesus, I needed to get the hell out of here, or I'd never leave. “Damn,” I panted. “That was … amazing.”

A proud, almost feline smile twitched at her lips. But it looked a little lackluster. Now that the fog of arousal had started to thin, she was quickly waking up to what she had done. I had no idea how she would end up feeling about this, and my presence probably wouldn't help her figure it out.
I sure wouldn't want someone looking over my shoulder while I wrestled with personal stuff.
Another reason for me to make a speedy exit.

“I've gotta get up early tomorrow to meet Logan,” I said quickly. “Otherwise I'd hang out. But I'll see you at dinner, right?”

She opened her mouth, then hesitated. Did she think I was pumping and dumping her? Was she hurt? Or just up for another round? Finally she nodded and said, “Yeah. I'll be home around five-thirty.”

She let me up and watched me while I got dressed. As I closed her bedroom door behind me, she called, “Goodnight!” Her voice was unexpectedly cheerful.

I didn't realize why until I was standing at the bathroom sink, washing my face clean of her juices.
“But I'll see you at dinner, right?”
As opposed to hiding from me, like she'd been doing for the past week. I paused, my face buried in a damp hand towel. I had asked Avery if she would eat with me. In a way that made it sound like I'd missed her.

And what was more … maybe I had.

Chapter 10

Avery

The next afternoon, I was sitting in a stuffy lecture hall, staring blankly at a PowerPoint presentation about late eighteenth-century fabrics. Not my favorite subject, even on a good day—and this definitely wasn't a good day. Even the era of Christian Dior and Edith Head wouldn't have held my interest right now. All I could think about was Nixon.

Intimate details from last night kept crowding into my head, so vivid it felt like I was back in my bedroom with him again. His chiseled body. His unfairly talented tongue and hands. His ice-blue eyes gone dark with desire. Warmth coiled tighter between my legs and I shifted in my hard plastic seat. Professor Worth droned on, but I didn't hear a word. I was too lost in my panty-creaming memories.

Nixon's cock was so incredibly long and thick. My hand had barely fit around his shaft, and my mouth … I shifted my lower jaw from side to side, feeling the slightest lingering ache. I still couldn't believe how hungrily I'd sucked him off. The one and only thought in my mind had been making him come. Who was that shameless, sensual girl, and what had she done with Avery Palmer? The sheer concentration of pheromones in the air must have driven me temporarily insane. That was the only explanation for everything we'd done. Everything
I'd
done.

And our night could have gone even further. What if I hadn't hesitated when he'd asked to take me? How would it have felt to let that huge cock fill me up? The thought made me squirm for more reasons than one. Last night had been exhilarating, but it had also been disorienting. Before I met Nixon, I had never been so instantly, devastatingly attracted to a man. Like a compass arrow snapping toward a magnet. But how far would I get pulled off course? Sex would change everything—if it hadn't already. Was I ready for something like this? Hell, I didn't even know what “this” was. Friends with benefits? Fuck buddies? The words tasted strange, almost sour on the back of my tongue; I wasn't sure how I felt about a relationship with all of the sex and none of the romance. Knowing that Nixon would probably be fine with that arrangement didn't help. In fact, it just made me feel weirder.

But all the confused emotions in the world couldn't change what my body wanted. Even the fact that we were technically related didn't matter anymore. Something deep inside me, something primal, was crying out for Nixon to fuck me hard. To throw me down and claim and satisfy me until I couldn't think straight.

Sighing in frustration, I looked down at my notes and saw a near-blank page. I'd only gotten as far as the lecture's title, five or six bullet points, and a handful of increasingly abstract doodles. I rubbed my eyes, beyond caring whether I smeared the hell out of my liner, and tried to scribble down the current slide before Professor Worth clicked forward.
Screw it … this stuff's in our textbook and the smokey-eye look is trendy right now.
My mind had been chasing itself in circles all day. Half of me was dying to feel Nixon's fiery touch again. The other half was still cautious—not setting off any alarms yet, but aware that such intense heat could burn as well as warm. And I had no idea how to pull the two halves of myself back together.

You should've thought of all that before letting him bury his face between your legs
, I scolded myself.
Well, it was too goddamn late now. I'd just have to figure this mess out as I went along.

Everyone around me suddenly started to stand up, chattering and rustling papers and folding away their desks. Professor Worth must have announced the end of class, but I hadn't even noticed. Relief rushed through me; I was finally free.
Thank God I only have two classes on Fridays.
I shoved my notebook back in my bag and left the lecture hall, heading for the student union building to say goodbye to my friends before I drove home. Then I paused and changed course toward my parking spot on the edge of campus. I probably could have spared fifteen minutes, but I'd told Nixon to expect me around five-thirty, and I didn't want to risk getting sucked into the latest celebrity gossip and missing our—

I stopped myself from finishing that sentence. The word “date” scrambled my thoughts in a way I wasn't sure how to interpret.

***

When I got home, I was surprised to find Logan and Fox chilling on the couch. A basketball game blared on the flat-screen television. Through the living room window, I could see Nixon standing outside on the balcony, prodding at the barbecue with tongs. The smell of charcoal smoke and grilling meat wafted in.

At the sound of the front door, Logan turned around and smiled. “Hey, Avery.”

“Um … hey there, guys,” I replied, squelching my disappointment. Either Nixon had forgotten about this little party in all the excitement last night, or he'd been lying about eating dinner with me.
Or he's just a typical dumb bloke who thinks that a big group hangout is just as good as a one-on-one meal.

Fox dropped his head back to look at me upside-down. “Good timing! The game should start in a few minutes. Pre-season exhibition. You a Lakers girl or a Clippers girl?”

Oh, well. I guess I should just enjoy the party.
“Whatever kind of girl gets fed,” I called out as I headed to my room. I tossed my bag on the bed, toed off my Steve Madden wedge sandals, and changed from my pleated skirt into soft capri pants.

When I came back down the hall, Logan was at the breakfast bar, pouring a glass of ruby red wine. I could smell its fruity, floral bouquet even over the barbecue smoke from outside. “Here,” he said. “We got some Merlot when we went to the liquor store.”

“Oh, thank you. What a nice surprise,” I said, genuinely pleased. Nixon didn't strike me as a wine guy; he must have picked up on my lack of enthusiasm for beer.

“No problem,” Logan replied. “Glad you like it.”

As I lifted the glass for a sip, my eyes drifted to Nixon's silhouette in the window again. I didn't even know what I wanted to say, and I was still dying to talk to him. It probably wasn't super polite to just grab booze from Logan and then ditch him, but I couldn't focus on anything other than Nixon right now.

After a minute of awkward silence, I said, “I think I'll … go check out the food situation.”
Duh. How smooth, Avery.

But Logan didn't seem to mind my total lack of social graces; he just dipped his head and went to reclaim his spot on the couch. At once relieved and nervous, I stepped outside, shutting the balcony door behind me.

Four huge steaks and a tinfoil packet of potatoes covered the grill. Nixon cocked his head to look at me while still monitoring the food. My stomach fluttered; even that small eye contact felt explosive. Laden with promise.

“So,” he said quietly. “Did you think about last night all day today, too?”

Whoa. I guess we're cutting right to the chase.
“Y-yeah,” I admitted without hesitation.

“Then I should come to your room tonight,” he replied. It was a statement, not a question.

Everything I'd struggled to keep at bay during class—all those overheated memories, already blending and deepening into fantasy—came rushing back. Earlier, I had wondered how it would've felt to let Nixon take me. Now my chance to find out was here. As soon as his friends left … all I'd have to do was ask. Or beg.

Despite the warm, windless evening, I shivered hard. All my doubts, my anxious questions about what all this meant and how it would affect our relationship, suddenly felt very far away. As long as my stepbrother's eyes stayed on me, nothing else mattered.

Just as I opened my mouth to respond, the door flew open, and Fox and Logan crowded out onto the balcony.

I liked Nixon's friends. I really did. But in that moment, I kind of wanted to punch them.

Fox plopped into a patio chair. “Hey, are the steaks done yet?”

If Nixon was annoyed at the interruption, he did a good job of hiding it. “I don't know. Are the green beans on the stove?”

“What's that got to do with steak?” Fox cracked open his can of Guinness.

“Not a damn thing. Is one of those beers for me?”

Twisting his smile into mock outrage, Fox looked between me and Logan in rapid succession. “You seeing this? You see what he puts me through? Don't hoard vital intel, man. Information wants to be free.”

“We just put them on,” Logan offered, setting a tall can down on the grill's side shelf.

“Holy hell, a straight answer. And booze! Thank you, sir.” Nixon turned over the steaks and they hissed loudly. “Your services to this great nation will not go unacknowledged.”

Logan chuckled as he sat down. I would have laughed, too, if I weren't so frustrated. I'd been tied up in knots all day, and just when I started talking to Nixon, his buddies had barged in. How long would I have to wait to finish our conversation? Fox and Logan showed every sign of camping out here until the food was done. I gave up when Nixon opened his own Guinness. While the steaks sizzled away on the grill, the guys drank their beers and I tried my best to enjoy my wine.

Eventually Nixon turned his head to announce, “I'm gonna check on the vegetables and get some plates. Can someone hold down the fort?”

Logan stepped up to watch the grill and Nixon went inside. With a crooked grin, Fox immediately turned to me, as if he'd been waiting for this window of opportunity. “Ah, alone at last.” He ignored Logan's snort. “I think there's some things you oughta know about your new stepbrother.”

Unbidden, images from last night flashed again in my mind, and the word
stepbrother
suddenly sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

“So what do you want to hear about first? Maybe the time he almost got arrested for public indecency?”

My mouth fell open. “W-what?”

Over his shoulder, Logan shot an unreadable glance at me. I must have looked as shocked as I felt.

“Oh, yeah. We were all at this restaurant, and our order was taking forever, so he went to go find the waitress. Then
he
disappeared, too. Turned out that he'd found her, all right … in the alley out back.” Fox guffawed. “He'd pulled off plenty of exhibitionist shit just fine before, but I guess karma finally caught up with him.”

I was beyond horrified. Sure, Nixon was far from inexperienced with women—I had known that much since we first met. But I'd never thought he was a freaking sex maniac. Someone who lived just to grab exciting new pieces of tail. Someone who would do anything to get laid… I’d thought he’d had some restraint, some
standards
.

“There was also that year where he got all obsessed with threesomes,” Fox continued. “Some pretty great stories there. Not sure which is best, the one about the contortionists or the one about the identical Swedish twins.” He drummed his fingers on his lips for a second. “Well, I say twins, but they probably weren't really. Not sure why they needed another schtick when they could already play ping-pong with their—”

“
Fox!
”

Everyone startled, even Logan. Nixon stood in the doorway with a handful of plates and a face like thunder.

“You wanna buy a one-way ticket off this balcony, man? 'Cause I can hook you
right
the fuck up.” Nixon's voice was almost a snarl.

Fox's grin had vanished. He raised his hands in half-serious surrender, although the effect was spoiled by him still holding his beer can. “Okay, dude. Shit. Take a chill pill.”

But it was too late. The damage had already been done.

Last night, when Nixon had whispered such sweet, filthy things in my ear, I had thought I was special. I had thought he wanted
me
. Now I knew better. He was just a player who chased anything with two tits and an ass. He would have said whatever I wanted to hear. And I had bought it hook, line, and sinker. How could I have been so stupid? Was I really that desperate?

Blinking back tears, I swallowed, trying to steady my voice. “Sorry. I, uh … feel a migraine coming on. I'm gonna go lie down.” Without waiting for a response, I hurried back inside to my bedroom and shut the door.