Someone Like You (Someone To Love Series) (9 page)

Huh. I wonder if Kendall has anything to do with the bitter breakup. Not that I care. I have a feeling revenge sex with his ex is a great way to get under his skin. The way Kendall screams through those paper-thin walls makes me want to charge in with a shotgun and free her from his sexual dungeon. Turns out the room I’m in was
his
bedroom, which explains the chains and economy-size box of condoms in every drawer.

Blair dances into me, brushing her chest against mine with an invitation. Her blonde hair whips around to the music as she sways to the beat, taking me with her.

The music picks up pace, and Blair indulges in some hostile dry humping at my expense, but even with that raucous display of affection my dick chooses to lay low for the evening.

A familiar, beautiful face catches my attention from across the room.

“Ally,” I whisper as elation washes through me. Some moron steps up and shoves his arm around her neck before swiveling his hands down her back and covering her ass like a baseball mitt. “Who in the hell is that guy?”

“What?” Blair pecks a string of kisses up my neck before biting down hard over my earlobe.

“Whoa.” I pull her away gently, and she leeches right back where she came from.

The douche molesting Ally starts in on some hip-hop dance, twisting his wrist in the air like he’s riding a freaking pony.

“Idiot,” I say under my breath.

Blair pulls back and follows my gaze.

“Rutger?”

Rutger
. Figures.

His hair is combed neatly to the side. He’s wearing a light-blue sweater with a tie notched underneath, and he’s got on a pair of bona fide penny loafers like some fugitive from Wall Street.

“He looks ancient,” I muse. The guy’s gotta be at least pushing forty.

“He’s a grad student. A friend of Pen’s”—she points over to some stoner dousing his insides with a beer bong under the careful supervision of his frat brothers—“that’s Cruise’s half-brother.”

“Is that so?” I revert my eyes back to the wizard of Wall Street cutting loose like he’s in training for a rodeo—as the clown. And somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you can connect the douche dots all the way back to Cruise Elton.

He swings his hips into Ally’s. He pushes into her like he’s about to take her right here in the common room, and my blood pressure spikes to unnatural levels.

“Would you relax?” Blair tucks her finger under my chin and pulls me in. “Ally’s a big girl—and I do mean
big
.”

I glance over at her. Ally’s body is nothing short of perfection. I have no idea what the hell Blair is bitching about, but if she’s talking boobs, I’m in agreement. God smiled on Ally—twice. That’s for damn sure.

“I wouldn’t worry about her. Rumor has it,” Blair continues her tirade, “Ally can manhandle the best of them. Besides, you’re
my
date. Remember?” Her hands find their way up my shirt as she backs me into the wall.

No, I don’t remember.

I glance past her and meet Ally’s gaze. She smiles and starts to wave, but her hand freezes midair and the smile melts from her lips. Her eyes widen as she checks out Blair.

A dull laugh rattles from me.

Looks like it’s showtime.

“Come on, baby,” I whisper. “Let’s see some of those moves.”

Blair slithers up and down my body like a seasoned stripper, giving Ally a run for her sixteen dollars.

It takes everything in me not to look over at Ally and break out in a shit-eating grin. Then again, if this goes on too much longer, Blair is going to have a lady boner she’s going to want to put to rest, and I’m not going to want to have anything to do with it.

A pair of arms pull me to the side, and I glide over all too willingly.

“I thought you’d never show,” I say, turning to find—Molly? Shit.

“Beer tastes like a skunk pissed in my mouth!” She spits just shy of my chest as Blair tries to bat her away.

“Beer
is
skunk piss. Welcome to the world, baby girl,” I say, raking over the crowd in search for Ally. Her blonde flame of hair is still frozen as she gawks in this direction. And this time her jaw drops to the floor.

Looks like I’ve managed to get her attention—with two different girls.

Molly grabs me by the chin and forces me to look at her.

“I’m in love with you, Morgan Jordan.” She plants a live one right on my lips, and her tongue pierces my mouth like a javelin.

“
Whoa
.” I try to pluck her off me, but she melts in my arms instead.

“
Molly
.” Blair snatches her up by the shirt. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

“He’s my date.” Molly gives Blair a decent shove and sends her tiny frame tumbling. “Back off, would you?”

I look over only to find that a crowd has migrated between Ally and me. Luckily I can still see the douche riding his invisible horse. Wish he’d ride it all the way back to the commerce corral.

Ally struts over with her fantastically long, svelte legs; a pair of silver heels glow on her feet, and her hair blows back as if she’s in a movie scene. I guess the green-eyed monster showed up after all.

Blair hikes up on her heels, pushes her tongue in my ear, while Molly does her best to map out my abs with her hands, and Ally freezes. A hurt look sweeps across her face as she pivots for the door.

“Wait!” I try to free myself from the tangle of limbs coiling around me, but I get locked in a vise grip by Blair.

Rutger files out the door, and I catch him wrapping his arms around Ally as they head off into the night.

Looks like the green-eyed monster just gave me the finger.

By the time I drop Molly off, literally onto her mattress, it’s well past one in the morning. I hung out at the party awhile, thinking Ally might change her mind and come running back, begging me to pleasure her in the closet, but no such luck. A part of me was afraid to head back to the house, afraid Ally
wouldn’t
be here, that she was too busy having a sleepover at Rutger’s seaside villa where they would have vanilla sex while rolling over a mountain of dollar bills. But I was wrong.

Ally greets me with a knowing smile as soon as I step through the door. She’s sprawled out over the couch, flipping through some magazine with the tagline “How to please your man” scrawled across the front. I want to tell her she can throw that issue into the fire because she could have
written
that article, but I don’t.

“Are the kids in bed?” I tease, nodding over to the torture chamber Kendall’s holed up in.

She holds up three fingers before pitching her head back and having a mock orgasm. I watch mesmerized as her eyelids flutter and her mouth parts as she pants her way into ecstasy.

A silent laugh rumbles through me. I’d love to initiate the real deal in her, right here on the couch if she wants—put Cruise in my shoes and show him just how thin these walls really are.

“Are you hungry?” I point to the kitchen and she hops to her feet with a smile.

She’s got on a leopard-print tank top that hugs her hips and not much else. Hot damn. Lucky for me, Ally forgot to put on her bottoms tonight.

“So, have you been home for a while?” I ask, trying not to look too overly excited about the fact she might have initiated a pair of blue balls in the future accountant she was hanging out with tonight.

“About an hour and a half.” She shrugs.

Hour and a half? She must have come straight over.

My heart thumps, relieved to know she didn’t clock any unnecessary alone time with the rebel-without-a-clue.

I open the fridge and break out the eggs and bacon.

“Looks like a grocery run is in my future,” I say, staring at the beer and water bottles that take up most of the real estate on the shelves.

“If you want I’ll go with you.” Ally looks slightly hurt, saddened by something other than our nutrition-based conversation.

“Everything work out all right tonight?” I pull out the pan and break a half dozen eggs over the rim without looking at her. I’m afraid if I seem too interested I’ll scare her off like a timid bird. And Lord knows I am way too interested in Ally to want to scatter her in the wrong direction.

“It was fine.” She shakes her head. “I don’t really want to talk about it.” Her voice dissolves to a whisper. “But you looked like you had a good time.” Her eyes land on mine and stay there as if demanding to know the truth.

“
Great
time,” I correct. Nothing like prodding a little jealousy to spur things along. “Met a lot of friendly people—real friendly.” I cut her a quick glance as I start the bacon.

“Yeah—that would be Blair…” Her voice trails off.

Knew it. She saw the whole show, front and center, while making it look as if she didn’t even notice Blair and Molly pawing over me like a couple of bears on honey.

“Especially the blonde,” I say. “I’m not too into the kid—but Blair—you know, she’s all woman.” The bacon sizzles right along with Ally. Steam comes from her ears. Her eyes light up like flames.

“Really?” She says it curtly, a little louder than necessary. It’s obvious I’ve moved the boundary stone a little too far. “I’m sorry.” Her shoulders sag. “I really can’t stand her. She thinks just because she’s rolling around in Daddy’s money she can have whatever,
whoever
she pleases.”

I switch off the eggs and turn up the heat on the bacon to move the party along.

I know just what she means. That idiot boy toy of hers with his upturned collar, his penny loafers filled with solid gold Krugerrands, didn’t impress me much either. And he gets Ally just because he’s got a fatter wallet? Please.

“Never mind.” Ally shakes out her long, silken strands of hair, and my fingers demand to run through it. But I maintain my position and watch the bacon before the smoke alarm goes off. God forbid I disturb Cruise from his ever-present task of defiling my sister. On second thought I should burn the bacon—
often
.

“Blair is probably a good move,” she continues. “She’s definitely one to wine and refine you. And if you’re really nice, she might even let you drive the Vette.”

There’s a Corvette involved?

The bacon starts in on its requisite charring, so I call it a day and scrape the food onto a couple of plates.

“For you,” I say, setting it down before her and taking a seat.

“Wow, thank you.” She says it sweetly, almost as if she’s about to cry. “I’ve never had a guy cook for me before.”

“Really? I’d think they’d be bowing at your feet fulfilling your every whim—starting with your stomach, then moving to far more interesting places.” A smile plays on my lips, but I hold back long enough to watch her cheeks heat with color.

The night we shared runs through my mind—hot, mindless sex with no pretense, no
words
for that matter. This is exactly why one-night stands have a magnificent downside. You might be sleeping with a goddess and not even know it. If I could go back I would appreciate things a whole lot more, savor Ally’s body like it was the most exotic fruit, the last bite of my entire existence.

“My stomach, huh? You’re funny,” she says it quietly, as if the idea were a joke. Ally sweeps the floor with her gaze, and I pop a piece of bacon in my mouth, studying the mystery of this forlorn girl in front of me.

Ally latches onto me with those lawn-green eyes, powerful and magnetic.

“Morgan?” She runs her tongue over her lips in one clean swipe and my crotch ticks to life like a bomb. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask you something crazy.”

“Go ahead.” Damn—I fucking love crazy.

Ally picks up my hand and walks over, pressing her body tightly against mine.

She tilts into me with those glassy jade eyes. “Do you think you could love me tonight?”

4

BATTLE OF THE RATTLE

Ally

M
organ Jordan qualifies as a god on so many levels—the face, the dimples, eyes that shine like sapphires. But the truth is, we’re cut from the same cloth, and I think the entire universe knows I’m no deity, no goddess in training, just a simple girl in blue jeans.

“Love you?” He takes another bite from the strip of bacon he’s holding, slightly perplexed by my request.

“You know…” I pull him up to his feet and he tosses what’s left of his food over his shoulder. “Love me with your body.” I tick my head toward the bedroom. I’m too ashamed to tell him I was humiliated—that Rutger asked Jules Shaw to the Summer Splash down at the country club right in front of me because he knew I wouldn’t be into “snooty stuff like that”—then he had the nerve to call me one of his favorite bad girls just before I detonated a slap across his cheek. I hope he’s still nursing it—those fake veneers all popped off, exposing his rotten yellow teeth.

How could Rutger label me a bad girl if I’ve never so much as kissed him?

Morgan tilts his head back a notch while weighing the merit of my proposition.

“Ally”—his dimples go off and my heart detonates in my chest like a bomb—“I think we’re having a miscommunication. And if we are, I’d really appreciate it if you were the one who broke it to my buddy.” He glances down at the growing bulge in his jeans, and I swallow down a wicked laugh.

If I’m going to be a bad girl, then
I’ll
choose who I will and won’t be with—and tough luck for Rutger because I plan on being very, very bad. Besides, there’s a sweetness to Morgan and everything in me is crying out for some of his affection.

I pull him in by the back of the neck and crash my lips against his to assure him that my indecent proposal was indeed the real deal.

His salty tongue sweeps over mine, and suddenly I’m hungry for far more than bacon.

We edge our way out of the kitchen. He walks me backward, slowly, through the hall, our mouths never surrendering their locked and loaded position.

Morgan interlaces our fingers and raises my hands over my shoulders as he backs me against a wall. He dives into an entire ocean of kisses with thoughtful, careful strokes that melt the pit of my stomach.

We stumble into the bedroom, and he closes the door with the light still on overhead.

I pluck off my T-shirt and bite down on a smile as he inspects me, his chest pumping like he’s just moved a building.

“God, you’re beautiful.” He rides his gaze up and down my body, and I swell with excitement as he says those words. With Morgan it sounds genuine, not like the come-ons I’ve heard so many times as a means to an end.

I switch off the lights just as he presses a tender kiss over my temple.

I take off his shirt nice and slow, unbuckle his jeans, and he catches me by the wrist before any real progress can be made, pulling me gently down to the bed.

“Ally,” he whispers as I pepper him with fevered kisses. It killed me to see Blair pawing all over him; Molly too, for that matter. I don’t care if she is still in high school. Tess once told me younger girls are a threat you never outgrow. “What’s going on?” He says it like he’s honestly interested.

“This is going on.” I slip my hand into his jeans and feel him grow from inside his boxers.

“I know,” he whispers with a touch of sadness while securing his arms around my waist. He pulls back until we’re lying on the pillow nose to nose. “Just tell me what happened. I could see the knife wounds as soon as I walked through the door. Do you want me to kill somebody?”

“No felonies.” I press my body to his chest, skin over skin, and my stomach quivers from his touch. “See, that’s why you’re a bad boy. Normal people don’t reach for the lethal solution. They sit down and have a conversation.”

The moonlight streams in and colors him a pale stone-blue.

“Precisely why we’re having a conversation.” He pulls back with a naughty grin waiting to take over. It takes everything in me not to stop this “conversation” with my lips or with other body parts that are craving to have an intimate discussion with him right now. “This is different than the other night,” he whispers, stroking his thumb gently over my cheek. “This isn’t a one-night stand. I’m going to see you in the morning. You’re Kendall’s buddy. I’m not just some guy anymore. Sex will either get in the way or…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead the words hang in the air while we try to decipher what exactly they might mean.

“I think for tonight”—I scoot in close—“I’d like to opt for door number two.” I brush my lips against his dimple and feel it depress beneath me. Everything in me swims.

“Door number two,” he repeats. “What’s going to happen when we wake up and all those doors were just an illusion?”

“You always overanalyze things?” I reach into his boxers and glide my fingers over the one part of his body that’s actually on the same page with me. He’s long and strong, and I trace out the ridges with my finger as I glide from the base to the tip. Morgan is hard as Sheetrock, and he’s burning with heat, all for me.

“I don’t overanalyze, Ally”—he says it sweetly—“but I like to know my boundaries. I just want to be sure I’m not going to get my ass handed to me with a baseball bat.”

I exhale into his neck, raking my lips across his five o’clock shadow. My mouth comes to life as I run my tongue along his sharp jawline. His words spin through me like a cyclone, and I know he’s hinting at the fact this might not be the brightest idea. But then again, it just might be, and I’ll go with that for now.

“I need you tonight.” I sear the words over his ear. “Maybe at the end of the day all I really want is to go home with someone like you. Maybe that’s the one thing the bad girl in me really craves. It can be our dirty little secret. No strings, just you and me, two birds cut from the same cloth, wrestling it out.”

“Ally,” he whispers just this side of sorrow. “Our dirty little secret?” His cheek flare with twin darts, no smile, just the resolute sadness that’s taken over the mattress as a whole.

I refuse to participate in an all-out debate. Instead, I plunge his jeans down past his hips and he frees himself from them in seconds. Morgan collapses his warm skin over mine and it feels like a blessing. Some way, somehow this man—this virtual stranger—has harnessed the power to satiate me with the touch of his flesh alone.

His hand rides up and down my body as if he were mapping out the lay of the land. I create small circles over his chest with my fingers until my hands ride to the base of his hips and get lost in the soft curls that trace down to the most intimate part of him. My hand glides over his ridges and I latch on, pulling him in like a leash as my insides throb to have him.

Morgan reaches over and plucks a condom from the nightstand. He rolls onto his back as the pale strip of moonlight slices in from the blinds. He tears the package with his teeth and the sound of paper ripping stills the moment.

Here it is, my out if I want it. I’m sure a quick session in the shower could finish what I started, but I want to do this. Something warms in me at the idea of having Morgan this way, far more than it ever did at the thought of touching Rutger. I wonder if all I’m really doing tonight is giving Rutger and his high-society friends the big F.U. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Morgan is the first guy I’ve ever shared Ruby with. Maybe it’s because my body holds the memory of the other night close to the vest like a poker hand, and I want in on all those damn secrets—regardless, every ounce of my being craves to have him.

Morgan pulls me over him and my chest molds to his. His oven-heated kisses trace down my neck, lower, all the way to my chest as he covers his mouth over my nipple and I gasp as he warms me with his hungry mouth. He continues at a fevered pitch until his lips are buried right there, nestled in my chest like it is his favorite place in the world. I reach back and feel the length of him, my hand covered in the sticky goo from the condom, and instantly regret the move. I guide Morgan in and sit back with my neck arched as I ride him into a sexual oblivion that Rutger Crones only wishes he could experience with me or anybody else.

Rutger was right. I was the bad girl tonight—on my terms, with my people. And being with Morgan doesn’t feel bad at all.

The headboard knocks against the wall in rhythm to our bodies and breaks the spell for a moment. I give a dull laugh at the thought of Kendall and Cruise startling to attention at the sound of our hormonal surge. Truth be told, I really don’t care. I’m tired of people like Kendall and Cruise and their perfect relationships while the rest of us are forced to listen to them,
watch,
even, on the rare occasion when I’ve happened to walk in on them in the bathroom that has no lock. Honestly? Maybe this will finally drive home the point that there are other people in the damn house. Not that I totally don’t appreciate living in said damn house. I’m actually starting to love this damn house. A lot.

Morgan sits up and I wrap my legs around his back.

“Kiss me,” he says it in a heated whisper as he plunges his tongue deep into my mouth and swipes it gently over mine. I let out a soft moan as I round out my hips over his.

A muffled giggle emits from the other side of the wall, followed by the sound of Cruise trying to quiet Kendall.

Nothing is going kill Morgan’s hard-on faster than the sound of his sister’s voice, so I intensify my efforts, pushing him in deeper, pulling him in with a fierce hunger, a primal purpose that far outweighs any familial concerns that might be brewing. I pant into his ear to quell any outside disturbance, and he gives a riotous groan of appreciation. Morgan seizes me by the hips and thrusts me down over him again and again. He pulls me in by the neck and my body inches toward its pleasure but stops short like it does every single time. Instead I feel a pinch deep in my belly, and I inhale sharply as he pushes in deep.

I don’t know Morgan that well, or at all, but a part of me is dying to whisper something meaningful to him. I’ve never said “I love you” to anyone before, well, not of the male variety, and for some unknown reason the words want to form on my lips, they light me up like a flame on the inside, ready to climax out of me in a verbal eruption. There must be some reason they’re pushing to the forefront; maybe all I really want is someone to love—for sex to mean something for once—and maybe a part of me sees a glimpse of that on the horizon with someone like Morgan.

Our bodies rock steadily as his hips move beneath mine. It feels anything but “dirty.” For sure I don’t feel like a bad girl. If anything I feel good, better than good. It feels perfect.

“I’m coming.” He wrenches the words from the pit of his stomach, securing me down by the waist until I can feel his ceaseless throbbing inside me. “Shit.” He gives a gentle laugh of exhaustion as he topples us back to the pillows. “You’re a wild one, you know that? A spitfire,
hell
, a flamethrower.”

“A sword swallower.” I brush a finger against his cheek until his dimple ignites in a deep pool of black.

“I’ll need a demonstration of that last one.”

“I bet you will.” I round my hands over his rock-hard bottom as he slides the condom off and tosses it square into the trashcan.

“I’m good for now.” Morgan throbs a series of heated kisses up and down my chest until he reaches the nape of my neck. “I think it’s time for me to show you a few good tricks.” He strings his kisses all the way down to my hip before slipping his hand between my knees and pushing me open, exposing me wide for him to see.

“I’m good too,” I say, trying to pull him back up to the pillow.

“Whoa.” He holds out a hand. “Turnabout is fair play. I think if we’re going to put on a show we owe it to the audience to provide a full-bodied performance.” He runs his finger along the inside of my most intimate part, and I fold over him as if in agony, only there’s no real pain—it’s all one hundred percent pleasure.

“Morgan.” His name cuts through me like a train pulling into the station. “Maybe some other time.”

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” He springs back next to me with a genuine look of horror on his face.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just, I don’t know.” It’s not like I’m going to fess up and fill him in on the fact I’ve never had the Big O. That the few times I have slept with a guy I’ve faked it because I felt sorry for their elusive and somewhat heroic efforts in trying to elicit one in me. It’s not their fault I’m defective. And besides, something in me doesn’t want to fake anything with Morgan, especially now that I know if it doesn’t happen he’ll be as disappointed as I am—and God forbid he feels inadequate. Morgan Jordan is anything but inadequate.