Rug Burns (Reviving Haven Book 2) (7 page)

His
name was Jared Stanton. He’d come into her tiny publishing house for a luncheon. Actually, from what she described, it was more like a buyout. He owned Stanton Publishing, one of the biggest companies on the West Coast. Obviously, he wanted to absorb all the smaller houses. It was an easy way to get rid of any future competition. I might have given tons of head, but I indeed did have my own head when it came to certain business practices. And I knew without a doubt what was taking place.

He set his sights not only on the small publishing house, but on my best friend. I knew the minute I met him he was a prick. Seven years older than her, and he’d been around. I could smell a womanizer. Personally, it was a characteristic I admired, but not in the man my BFF was head over heels in love with. The minute his eyes met mine, I saw a challenge. I should have called him out that first night for the pig he was, but I let it slide. I never saw Haven as happy as she was at that moment, and I didn’t want to be the one who threw a wrench into her nirvana.

The air between Jared and me was always thick with animosity. I knew he would hurt her, and he thought I would defile her with my lifestyle. He’d actually profiled me. At one point, I swore he attempted his version of seduction—with me. I would
never
blow him, even if he were the last prick on the planet. He pretended to be cultured and seasoned—an expert in all and a master of nothing. God, I loathed him.

I hated the fact that I wasn’t able to save her from him. It still makes me retch when I think of what she went through. She never confessed everything, but I knew. And the verdict was in. He should die or at least be hung by his tiny nuts on pay-per-view.

Haven was ecstatic when she told me he’d asked her to move in. She knew my opinion of Jared. I never came right out and said he was trash, but she knew I hated him. I think, in her mind, she pretended it was jealousy. Haven was so blinded by what she assumed was love, but I knew he would end up destroying her.

It took five years. He literally took everything from her. Her body and mind. The fucker even took her soul. I’d spent the prior two years considering a revolving door in my condo. They would fight. They would make up. I watched as she became someone I no longer knew. She was a puppet, and Jared was the puppet master.

After tales of his whoring surfaced and the promise of marriage was pushed back time after time, Haven was done. She’d spent years living in hell while I pursued everything with a cock. We never lived far apart, so I was her constant ally. I begged her to move back in with me all those years ago, but she always said no.

She didn’t want to give up on her first love. It felt like failure to her. In my mind, she should treat it as a learning experience. Get over it and go to the next one. Of course, I never said that.

Jared had molded her into the image that suited him, but the one thing he couldn’t control was Haven’s lack of sexuality. Oh, and he couldn’t control me. We had a war of words for days following her departure from his home. He’s lucky I wasn’t into chicks, because filleting him with a knife was tempting. Surrounded by pussy in a women’s prison, not so much.

My bestie was gone. Not only mentally, but everything that had made her Haven disappeared. She was too thin, too blond, too tanned… He’d created a Stepford Wife version of my girl, and I hated it. She stayed with me for two weeks, then went home to Colorado. As much as I didn’t want her moving away, she needed her parents and probably therapy. I couldn’t give her the kind of help she required. She was shattered. He’d stolen Haven’s self-worth and left her emotionally battered.

I gave her fourteen months to get her shit together. Then I went out to visit. It was fucking cold in Colorado. In more than one way. Haven was still a mess. Although, now she was a quiet mess. She’d been seeing a therapist. But was still locked up tight. Her descriptions of what happened had been carefully edited. She refused to let anyone in. I spent nine days, eleven hours, and twenty-one minutes coming up with valid reasons she should come home. Regardless of what had occurred, living in Los Angles with me was home for both of us.

She finally relented, and I promised her parents Haven would continue therapy in L.A. I absolutely knew that was a must. Jared had done something terrible to her. I felt like a stranger when we spoke. The flight back to California was solemn and silent—two things I didn’t handle well. So I drank my way to exuberance all the way home.

There were times I truly felt I shouldn’t have forced her to come back here. She was obviously unhappy and kept to herself. Maintaining our relationship was fatiguing. Depression ruled her, and her behavior didn’t quite resemble anything close to normal. Even though I had a roommate, most of time, I felt like I was living alone. I found her a good shrink, and once they put her on medication, she began to respond to her surroundings.

I wanted to do something for her, something that would give her a reason to get out of bed every morning. I found a bookstore for sale through my real estate listings. I made the down payment, and she paid rent to the holding company. Okay, so that holding company was actually me. I added those payments to the condo rent she paid. By the time she found out the truth, she would have a nice nest egg of her own to do whatever she wanted.

It gave me great satisfaction to do this for her. She flourished owning that store. It took several months of renovations, but she loved it. I helped her decorate, and we hired a young girl part-time to do stocking and sales. Haven seemed happiest in that environment.

I had to beg and plead for her to go out with me. She was the worst wing woman ever. I knew she was miserable about the way she looked. No longer rail thin and tan, her body had matured and become rounder. It happened to me first. I’d lost my college body a long time ago and learned how to adapt to my more mature physique and make it work for me. We were hardly models, but we could still pull off hot as hell.

Life got back to semi normal. Her working all the time and me… Well, I loved my day job, but I lived for those deviant nights. When the weekends came around, so did the parties. Most times when I came home, I tried being quiet, but one night I’d had just a little too many and met an actor that was too good to be true. Hung like a horse with stamina to boot. As I came into my living room, I bumped into the end table, stubbing my toe, knocked over the lamp, and tripped on the carpet.

“Jesus, Weezie, it’s five in the morning. Could you be a little louder?” Haven moaned as she yawned, barely awake

“Sorry. Too much to—fuck! Son of a bitch. Fuck,” I replied as I stumbled into the coffee table again.

“Need help? Maybe AA?”

“Very funny. I’m not an alcoholic. I just overindulged. You should have seen the size of this guy’s co—”

Haven’s hand covered my mouth. “Shut up! I do
not
need dimensions. Go to bed.”

“He almost gave me the Oscar he won for his last film because the blowjob I gave him was so award-winning.” I chuckled.

Haven looked murderous. Even in my drunken state, I could see that. I loved pushing her buttons. “I am begging you. Please stop with the graphic details about… you know,” she whined.

“You mean BLOWJOB?”

She cringed as she turned several shades of red. “I swear, maybe you should just give up your day job and go into
that
fulltime.”

I licked my lips. I hadn’t thought about that, but maybe she had the right idea. Of course, a blowjob might be a job to another woman, but it wasn’t work for me.

“Okay, bestie. Puff chore. Does that sound better to your delicate constitution?”

“Very funny,” Haven said, and I could see her mind working.

I laughed. “I don’t know why puff chores get you so flustered. Regardless of whatever we call it, it still means the same thing.
Sucking cock
,” I said in amusement.

“Seriously, Weezie, go to bed before I kill you. I do
not
want to discuss the pros and cons of you know what at five a.m.”

“You gave that asshole motherfucker ex of yours one, right? I mean, you have sucked—given a puff chore?”

Haven hunched her shoulders with a loud exhale. I could tell she was getting mad. “I guess not a very good one since he felt the need to go elsewhere,” she mumbled. “Please, can we go to sleep now? We can finish the Q-and-A tomorrow.”

“Fuck him. He was probably used to a more masculine mouth anyway,” I quipped. Just thinking about blowing him left a bad taste burning in my throat. Or maybe that was the vodka.

“I never liked it. It was uncomfortable. It hurt my jaw.” She groaned as she turned around to go back to bed.

“Wait. Stop. Ever smoke a cigar, Haven?” I asked, knowing full well she was much too tightly wound to have ever inhaled anything.

She paused and turned, shaking her head.

“So it’s like this, and I’m only using this as example and these words as terminology. So please do not bite off my head. When you smoke a cigar, you puff on it, you never deeply inhale—you never take it all the way in or you’ll cough like hell. Unless you’re a seasoned pro like me. A cock is similar to a stogie, especially if you’ve never tried it or are reluctant, in your case. Men and their cocks are easy. Once you have it in your mouth, they’re putty in your hands. You could do anything you want and they’ll think you’re the second coming because you have their dick in your mouth.” I chuckled. “Next time the opportunity presents itself—and I swear it will; believe me—try licking, blowing, or puffing. They won’t care. They’ll be convinced you’re the reincarnation of Linda Lovelace.”

Haven blinked several times. “Who’s Linda Lovelace?”

I shook my head. “One of these days, I’m going to tie your ass to a chair and make you watch porn.”

She snorted. “Um… don’t think so, but thanks for Puff Chore 101 at dawn. Now go to bed, for God’s sake.”

“You said puff chore. Did you make a funny at five in the morning?”

I mentally rolled my eyes. She still wanted me to refer to it as a puff chore. Seriously. Next time I gave a blowjob—puff chore—it would be hard not to chuckle. Of course, men loved it when you mumbled or giggled while their dick was in your mouth. The vibration went straight into their brainstem and made them come. Men were amusing creatures. It never took much, just a mouth that was warm and wet—they were happy campers. For that fact, so was I.

I could cross
what’s his name again
off my list. It had been stimulating, but I hadn’t given him my number, and he had asked. I wasn’t interested in doing him again. He appeared surprised as I gathered my things to leave. I would never be one of those needy women who had to be held.
Oh, please.

By
the time I turned forty, I’d blown my way through most of the men in Hollywood and quite a few on the East Coast as well. Having full-on sex with someone, I kept that in the low double digits. It was too personal. A blowjob wasn’t intimate—at least for me.

Men didn’t fall for women like me. I was too bossy and strong. I wanted to be on top, and the word got around. There were worse things than being referred to as a tenacious and controlling woman who gave the best fellatio. I tried to keep my professional life separate from my private. Not that easy to do when ninety percent in the company were men. It seemed they wanted their “slice of the pie.” Especially Thomas.

The only reason I broke my golden rule and slept with him was that I knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. I mean, he was drop-dead gorgeous. And his mouth—holy fuck—with those lips, he should have been the one giving blowjobs. I also knew Thomas just wanted to have sex with me. His intentions were evident. Us doing each other wouldn’t be messy or emotional. It was nothing personal.

What the fuck? It was emotional. I could hardly contain my laughter when he took off his pants. Exactly how could someone that looked like him be hung like that? His dick was a snack food. A hundred-calorie pack. His cock was so miniature it looked like the toy prize in a Cracker Jack box. I’d be afraid I’d swallow it—literally.

It was a good thing he could kiss. The way he lip-locked made my heart swell, my breath shudder, and my panties wet. Oh God, but he was going to fuck me with that. I hadn’t been trained in faking an orgasm. I was self-taught. This wasn’t going to be fulfilling at all. I hadn’t tried anal because it never appealed to me. But I had a better chance at climaxing if he fucked me in the ass and stimulated my clit manually. Really and truly.

I needed to get my head in the game. Thomas might have been hot—well, except for the hung like a hamster part—but he was also a conniving prick who was trying to steal some of my wealthier clients.

That single night with Thomas made me moody. Shakespeare had it right—“much ado about nothing.” I was bitchy and whiney for the entire week. I couldn’t wait until Friday. I tried to stay in during the week because Haven had pointed out I was getting a little too old for that lifestyle. Hardly. I fully planned to blowjob myself into a convalescent home and then some.

I spent many weekends attempting to persuade Haven to go out with me. She thought I needed her for my wing woman? Hardly. I wanted her to spread her wings and fly. I would rather have her spread her legs, but I didn’t see that happening anytime soon. She was too wrapped up in the bookstore, and her sexual needs were being met by
Earl
. Oh, how she adored her B.O.B. I’d never had use for vibrators. Once I had the real thing, battery-operated was out of the question. Besides, Haven
needed
the real thing. It had been seven years, and that cocksucker Jared was still fucking with her head. She had zero self-esteem.

What I didn’t know was my BFF had a secret. A big one, and his name was Latch McKay. I knew who he was. Rich, gorgeous, notorious man whore, and younger than her. The one and only night I finally convinced her to go with me… she ended up with him. I’d intended her to start slowly, not race right to the finish line. I would never set my sights on a man like him because my third rule was never suck a guy who was prettier than me.

And he was. Wild, lawless, ripped, and best friends with the one man I would love to fuck and suck all at once. There weren’t too many men I daydreamed about, but that one. Oh. Yeah. Keenan Stone was a model. He not only did runway and print ads, but he was also the embodiment of Jake Coy, the meanest badass character in the world’s number one video game.
Blood Vestige
was Latch McKay’s claim to fame, and once he introduced Jake Coy to the world, Keenan Stone’s career took off like a rocket.

I had lusted for him the first time I saw him in
Vogue,
modeling some timepiece. I couldn’t have cared less about the twenty-five thousand-dollar watch he promoted. I was too busy drooling over his body and face. Haven knew him because he graced every book cover of her favorite romance series. I might have loathed the content, but I coveted the covers.

I might actually get a chance to have my way with Keenan now that Haven was blowing Latch McKay. The closest I’d ever come to swallowing my tongue was when I ran into Latch in the kitchen.
My
fucking kitchen. In my PJs. With no makeup and my hair looking, holy shit, worse than his. But he could get away with it. The sexy bastard had no clothes on, except for jeans still open at the top. It was all I could do to keep from stumbling over my own feet and falling to the linoleum and worshipping him. His looks were dazzling. Between the body and that accent, I could see why Haven had submitted to him. I was ready to concede, and he wasn’t even on my radar other than he was just a means to get to Keenan.

Haven fell hard. She didn’t have to tell me; I could see it on her face. When Latch was in her universe, the dark world she lived in had light. I’d made a vow to myself that if he hurt her, I would seriously cut off his sack and sell it on eBay. But it seemed he was as enamored with her as she was with him. They were quite sickening to be around. I wasn’t sure if I approved of him because of what the media printed about his past escapades, but by that time, it was too late. Haven loved him. Anything I said to her now would be futile. I cared solely for her happiness, but I also had a selfish motive. I hoped whatever was between them would last long enough for me to meet Keenan Stone.

Latch invited Haven and me to his mother’s yearly charity gala. This was the event of the year. The guest list included artists of all media, retired politicians, royalty, as well as diplomats from all over the world. I’d been going out of my mind for days trying to figure out what to wear. I would be meeting Keenan for the first time. I wanted my dress to be exceptional enough to parlay it into an evening of sexual conquest.

My expectations were high for the evening. It was a night that almost didn’t happen. Latch had proved to be a bigger asshole than I thought. His behavior was bizarre to say the least and it took quite a bit of finagling on his part to get Haven to go. I was curious at that point to see if his best friend Keenan was a jerk like him.

The fucking gala. When I met Keenan for the first time in my life, I was speechless. I almost told Haven to call Guinness World Records because this in itself was an event. Keenan was just as tall as Latch but very blond and fair. He had piercing blue eyes and a British accent that made him sound elegant and sophisticated. For the first time in years, I felt out of my league. I was awestruck.

And he was
nice
. Fucking kiss of death. Nice men. I knew it when he gently cupped my elbow and walked me through the gala. My senses became aware of the way he smelled, the warmth of his skin, and how his tuxedo accentuated every inch of his body. I’d heard Haven refer to Keenan Stone as a Greek god. I’d never been religious, but in that moment, all I could think about was how I would love to pray at his altar.

I had no idea our first meeting would be chaotic from the start. That one night should have been an omen for both of us. We should have run in opposite directions. Shocker, I’m no nun, so in order to mask my complete enthrallment with Keenan, I drank. I couldn’t keep up with Latch though. That man was on self-destruct mode, and there was no dialing him back. Heavy tension stretched between him and Keenan.

I did a few more shots, trying to ignore what was going on around me. Keenan got frustrated with Latch, and we finally left and walked out to the garden where there was dancing. Within thirty minutes, Latch’s mother verbally accosted Haven and Jared showed up. Latch almost killed him; then he and Haven had an extremely loud confrontation. The night had
not
worked out as I planned. I wanted to comfort Haven, but she and Latch had taken their argument elsewhere. Keenan and I were together, but his mood had been clearly spoiled by his best friend’s actions.

I never got a definite picture of what happened in the garden. Haven never told me in specific detail, but her dress was torn and covered in vomit. When I saw marks on her arms and neck, I went into shock and denial. I remembered Keenan asking me to stay back as he went to talk to her. Even though we’d just met, I witnessed a gentle and kind man return with violent intent on his face. He told a limousine driver to make sure both Haven and I got home safely. He helped Haven into the car as he whispered to her, and I watched as she kept shaking her head. The more she spoke, the more rage I saw on his face.

When he finally looked at me, he took my hand in his and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. It was as if a rush of heat spiked through my entire body as he spoke. He told me he would call me, and I told him yes. What the hell? Between being tongue-tied and what had just happened to Haven, I no longer maintained any willpower. Truthfully, I never got a chance to show him my talents, so of course I wanted to see him again. I wasn’t breaking a rule. I just hadn’t claimed him yet.

During the next two weeks, my entire life turned upside down. I was now frustrated by both Haven and Keenan. She was sick, distraught, and pregnant. We had no idea how that occurred. Sure, we knew fucking caused it, but Haven had been told years before she could never have children. Haven had sworn me to secrecy, which sucked because lying wasn’t one of my virtues. So I had two traumas to face. The first one, my knocked-up best friend. The second, an actual date with Keenan.

Since the night of the gala was a disaster, Keenan had called and asked me out. I was hesitant. I didn’t get anywhere with him the night we met. Sure, there were severe circumstances, but even before all the dramatic events, it was obvious he wasn’t going down without a fight. Oh hell, I didn’t even get a chance to go down. I didn’t charm the hot Englishman at all, and it pissed me off.

Sex was definitely off the table with him. I’d never met a man—hell, I didn’t think any existed—that would refuse a blowjob. So he offered to take me to one of the most opulent restaurants in Hollywood instead. Like eating dinner would be a substitute for sucking his cock. Normally, I would have rolled my eyes at a date, but I anticipated getting another shot at this blond god. Yes, he was too conservative for me and too much of a gentleman. But I vowed by all that was holy I would get a taste.

The night he came to pick me up, he stood at the door in stoic form. If he wasn’t so tall and lickable, he’d make an outstanding butler.

“Hello,” he murmured as he stepped in the door. “You look lovely.”

Normally,
hello
and
lovely
didn’t get me wet, but said with a British accent, oh my God, fire sparked in my panties.

“Let me get my purse,” I replied, trying hard not to make eye contact. There was a good chance I might combust if I did.

I grabbed my clutch and squeezed past him in the doorway. My body came in direct contact with a hard-planed chest. My eyes seemed to wander straight down to his crotch, praying he was as aroused as I was. I could see the outline of his length, but he wasn’t erect. Crap. Regardless, whatever cologne he was wearing was alluring.

He smelled edible.

Fuckable.

Suckable.

Forget dinner. I’d take him—to go.

The man made me nervous, another attribute I was unfamiliar with. I was self-assured and confident, but Keenan, he overwhelmed me. Maybe because I wasn’t used to a man being immune to my charms. I might not have been the hottest woman he’d ever met, but I had talents that would astound even him. If we ever got that far. We made small talk in the car and at the restaurant. I’m sure I played with my hundred-dollar meal because my mind had centered on
his
center. I wanted to get to dessert.
Please let there be dessert.
I’d never met anyone like him. His articulate, soft-spoken voice almost shattered any resolve I had. If we didn’t leave the restaurant soon, I was going to crawl under the table and create my own sex-inspired banana split. Complete with nuts and velvety cream.

Dinner lasted two hours. Fucking one hundred and twenty minutes. I was mesmerized as I watched him eat. His mouth was a work of art. Full, thick lips with just a wisp of blond hair above them. I wanted to brush the butter from my lobster across his mouth and lick it off. I crossed my legs repeatedly. I was damp and flushed. Jesus, what was happening to me? I’d never been in the presence of someone as regal as Keenan Stone. Bastard wasn’t only breathtaking, but sweet. A deadly combination in my case.