Taken: His BFF 2 - Steamy BWWM Romance Collection: Ravished by You/Conquered by You/Avenged by You (Forbidden Fruit: Naughty Seduction Adventures Boxed Set) (4 page)

CONQUERED BY YOU

By

ROWENA

FORBIDDEN FRUIT: HIS BFF SERIES

Cover photo by nelka7812.

Eromantica Publications

First Edition: March 2015

SYNOPSIS

Sensual Nicole is a dirty rotten tease.

Military alpha male
Michael has finally figured out what
his best friend’s hot girl
has been up to—flirting with him and messing with his head in various ways he thought were innocent at first, but eventually realizes weren’t—the
sexy brown beauty
knew exactly what she was doing.

Now that he’s on to her, he’ll take things a step further and make sure the tease thinks twice before she messes with a red-blooded man like him—and she’ll learn her lesson
hard and without protection!

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I: MICHAEL

II: NICOLE

III: MICHAEL

IV: NICOLE

I.

MICHAEL

U
h oh. Nicole has gone and done it now.

Now that I know what she’s up to without a doubt, I’m gonna make her pay.

Here I am in a restaurant once again, hanging out with her and her boyfriend, Reggie, on this break from my deployment.

He and I have been friends forever, best friends you might say—like brothers in a lot of ways—and she has been his girl for the past four years, so we’re fairly familiar with each other.

At first I thought I was imagining it—that she didn’t mean to squish her boobs against me the way she did when we hugged, and that I had simply caught her off guard that one time when I popped by their apartment to visit—that’s why she wasn’t wearing a bra when she pressed her body against mine in greeting, then didn’t bother to put one on the whole time I hung out with them there. She was oblivious to the way her tits jiggled under her shirt, the headlights pointed at me. There was just no way she meant to titillate me like that, I decided.

A few years back, when they first got together, I would hear Reggie talk about how she generally refused to dress up, how he had to beg her to be sexy once in a while.

She’s a beautiful girl so I can see why she didn’t bother to do much—she doesn’t need to.

But at some point things changed, and I had no reason to think it was because of me.

Now every time I see her, she looks plenty sexy—tight jeans or skirts, push-up bras, revealing tops, light makeup and all.

Back when her look first started to change, I figured she simply decided to pay more attention to her appearance, in general, not because she’d be around me. How presumptuous would I be to think otherwise, right?

And then one time when she hugged me goodbye, right before Reggie and I left for the airport for my deployment, she said something like, “We’ll miss you” or “Good to see you,” or something—I don’t remember her words exactly because her lips ‘accidentally’ brushed against my ear, sending a sharp tingle from my lobe to my dick.

I couldn’t see her the same way after that—she had finally roused me beyond the point where I could ignore the nearness of her beautiful femininity.

For the most part, I could still put what she stirred in me aside—I am trained to keep a straight face and not show my cards, and can control most of my reactions.

My cock didn’t cooperate that day, but I was able to hide the effect she had by quickly imagining disgusting things—stumbling across a dirty diaper or bloody battle scenes—to send it back down.

Thank goodness Reggie noticed nothing.

And now, here we are in this restaurant, and she’s wearing a dress with undergarments that give her generous cleavage. I also noticed the dress stops at mid-thigh, showing more of her legs than I’ve ever seen. Not to mention those heels.

For the jeans-and-T-shirt-with-sneakers kind of girl I originally met, she sure is laying it on thick tonight.

She has a great poker face too, but when she leans this way or that, presenting her boobs in the most flattering lights, I get the strong impression it’s for my benefit.

I’ve had female friends test out the effect of their femininity on me before, especially at their most insecure times when they had a breakup or something and want to feel visually appreciated, even if just for a moment, but this is something else.

Nicole is a very confident woman. She knows that she’s beautiful and alluring, and she’s flaunting it. She doesn’t wonder
if
anything she does will have an effect, she is waiting to see
what kind
of effect.

Will I be able to keep a straight face or will I fall into her visual traps and turn into every other straight man out there with an uncontrollable base response?

On one occasion I thought she might have had the same issues as others, and that she was testing me because of insecurity that she’s not my usual type, that she couldn’t bear the thought that no matter what, I wouldn’t find her desirable as a darker-skinned woman.

Don’t worry, sweetie, I can’t miss the fact you’re still a girl,
I wanted to say, but I realize now that she fooled me; she knew exactly what she was doing. She has known all along I see her as a woman—quite a lovely one—and one it kills me that I can’t touch.

She has been playing me, batting those eyelashes and pretending every brush of her skin against mine is innocent, that every inappropriate lean forward, facing me or not, was done unaware that she was giving me a generous view of her ass or boobs.

She has been yanking my chain all along, and I know this because she’s doing it again, right at this moment—as she leans forward and ‘accidentally’ spills sauce right on her chest so that it drips down the crevice made by her soft, feminine swells.

Then she uses her finger to mop it up, and her eyes happen to catch mine as she brings it to her beautiful mouth and sucks it clean.

My cock twitches.

All right, you tease. I got your message loud and clear.

Right now, she is silently laughing at me—at my inability to touch her. She is amused by the fact she can rile me up, gets a kick out of controlling where my eyes go with her movements, like some cruel puppet-master. She likes watching the military machine become a man.

What she is doing is not just for me—to make me burn—it’s also for her, to feed her ego.

But this will not stand for long.

She needs to be reminded not to wake a sleeping giant, to not take her safety for granted.

But how? How do I get her alone, and how do I ensure I don’t jeopardize my relationship with my best friend?

I want her to feel like she paid dearly for dangling herself in front of me the way she has by submitting to me. And she will.

The mere fact that she gets so much pleasure from teasing me lets me know that she wants me. In a very immature way, she’s letting me know she’d be down to fuck outside of our current circumstances.

The fact that she feels safe behind Reggie lets me know she’s aware of the danger of fucking with me.

She is flaunting her protection.

Thank goodness this is the only night I get to hang out with the two of them over my three-week break.

Maybe that’s another reason she feels free to be bolder—I’m leaving tomorrow, and I won’t be back for a few months.

When Reggie gets up to go to the bathroom, I make sure to give her a look to let her know her grave error—she has taken things too far.

She could have gotten away with all the other stuff—the ambiguous brushes of skin, the fluttering eyelashes—but for whatever reason, she decided to kick things up a notch and I accept her challenge.

“Don’t start a fire you can’t put out,” I want to say to her, but I must maintain plausible deniability, as she has over the years.

You’re gonna pay dearly
, I beam at her with my eyes, laying bare my awareness of her actions and my response to them. There can be no question about my brief, intense glare. I even glance at her boobs for good measure.

She suddenly breaks out into a wide grin, looking as if she is completely innocent of wrongdoing, and is the absolute worst reader of body language—as if she totally missed the deliberate message I beamed with zero subtlety at her.

But I know it’s because she still feels untouchable.

She’s using her poker face again, and I can’t wait to watch it crack.

II.

NICOLE

I
don’t know what’s gotten into me.

One minute, there I was, merely tolerating the presence of my boyfriend’s best friend, Michael, when we all hung out together, only mildly interested in him because of his line of work.

The next minute, he goes from some guy I worked hard to be friendly with to a guy I want to fuck me.

I don’t know when it happened exactly—somewhere between finding out more about his special forces military career and personal life, I suddenly realized I was dealing with a true alpha male.

There’s just something about a guy who can handle a gun, a highly skilled sniper, a trained soldier that started working at my girly parts and hormones.

I started becoming more aware of his body, realizing how firm and muscled he was as we hugged. I even learned more about his journey to where he ended up, both career-wise and his family life growing up.

He had a lot to overcome, but today this tall, muscular man is capable and strong and oozes testosterone and masculinity.

Everything about him screams solid protector, and it doesn’t get more primal than that.

It doesn’t help that my boyfriend is pretty much the complete opposite of him—short and practically smaller than me. I’m a small size four, yet he and I can practically wear the same jeans. I’m only exaggerating a little, but I hate that my boyfriend’s thighs are smaller than mine. He is skinny with no muscles, but he isn’t bad-looking in general—he has a great face even though his body is nothing to shout home about, including his cock, unfortunately. Even his voice is a little high.

I’m with my boyfriend however because he is emotionally safe, not because of his physicality. I’ve had my heart broken before and been in relationships with wishy-washy alphas, so I know the value of what I have now—a dedicated man who isn’t into playing games and is in love with me and not afraid to show it.

But now here I am, facing this taller, broader, muscular guy in the form of his best friend, and my eyes have been reopened in other ways, and I can’t stop fantasizing.

I don’t know the last time I’ve been taken by an alpha male, a man bursting with masculinity, and my body is acting weird and making me do all sorts of uncharacteristic things.

I’ve found myself dropping lots of hints, even some in front of my boyfriend! But nothing too blatant; I cover them well, I think.

It’s like I can’t help myself—Michael represents danger in every sense and makes me feel like taking more risks.

He is a lethal man on battlefields, but he is also the type of man who leaves women shell-shocked and wondering what happened that made him go from a casual one-time fuck or fuck-buddy to a man they don’t ever want to leave. And he always does it—I’ve seen it. I watched him date one of my boyfriend’s female coworkers, and that indifferent girl went from satisfying a simple need to fuck to crawling after him. He went from looking like he was really into her wry personality to tossing her aside like garbage once he’d had enough of her.

She didn’t know what hit her, and I got a perverse pleasure watching the whole thing go down. She’d been broken down in no time, and although his coldness toward her once he’d gotten his fill was shocking, it amused me because I had harbored a dislike for her before they even got together, so she deserved it, far as I was concerned.

Still, I couldn’t help feeling a smidgen of empathy—he turned cold on her so fast.

I had also heard from my boyfriend how he decimated another girl he had on-and-off relations with—she suddenly got clingy, and he had to shake her completely.

He is clearly powerful in a lot of ways, far beyond those broad shoulders of his. Somehow, his dominating masculine aura seems to win out over female wiles every time.

I can fantasize from afar, but I’m glad I’m safe from actually tangling with him.

To me, he’s a lion in a cage, and my boyfriend holds the key.

“Have you guys read that Stieg Larsson stuff?” Michael asks once Reggie gets back from the bathroom and we’re waiting for dessert to arrive.

Reggie shakes his head, his dark eyes glazing over.

I hesitate before answering. “I only read
The Girl Who Played With Fire
,” I say truthfully.

Michael’s eyebrows raise briefly and the look on his face is unreadable.

“You should keep reading the series,” he says, taking a quick sip of his water. “My favorite one is
The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest
.”

Fuck, he’s not even looking at me with those blue-gray eyes, but I know with certainty he’s talking about me because I immediately feel fear rush through me.

What have I done?

Still, logic wins out—after all, Reggie is still here and not going anywhere anytime soon as far as I can tell.

But Michael is definitely letting me know my time is over, is he not? If so, how on earth will he manage to do anything about it? He’s leaving tomorrow.

“You guys should come stay with me next time I’m in town,” he suddenly says. “I’m getting this sweet cabin out in Big Bear. Hang with me for a few days. It’ll be pimped out with a hot tub, barbecue and everything.”

I watch Reggie enthusiastically accept and I can’t help but feel suspicious.

What is Michael up to?

Either way, he can’t do anything to me while Reggie’s around so I let him make his promises.

Besides it sounds nice—out in the woods with a place to ourselves, a hot tub for just us three…

Both Reggie and I can get the time off, so what’s the harm?

The more I hear the two boys go on about potential activities, the more fun it seems, and the more I’m looking forward to the trip upon his return.

True to our word, when Michael arrives back in town, we take a mini-vacation and drive out to Big Bear to join him for a few days in a beautiful three-bed cabin.

When dinnertime comes around the first day, Michael decides to treat us to barbecue.

He lets us know he has most of the ingredients for his intended spread, but that he is missing a few key ones for side dishes.

Reggie volunteers to get them for him—his way of finding an easy way to chip in, I figure.

Michael offers no protest, welcoming the offer.

I feel an urgency to go with Reggie, but when I get ready to go with him, he brushes me off.

“You’ll probably slow me down,” he says, grinning at me teasingly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.”

Still, I don’t want to be left alone with Michael for even half an hour.

I watch Reggie’s car pull off and stay at the window even when the car is no longer in sight.

There’s something in the air I can’t ignore, and I delay facing it as long as I can.

When I finally look at Michael, his eyes hold me in a way that can’t be interpreted in any other way: I am fucked.

The hungry lion has sprung his cage and I’m the piece of meat right outside of it.

“He’ll be gone at least forty-five minutes,” he says in a low voice, his eyes still on me.

I look away, my breathing speeding up.

Michael has a chance to make me pay for what I’ve done to him, and I have no doubt it will happen.

What was I thinking? Squeezing my boobs against him like that? Finding all these ways to insert innuendos? I figured he might get them since they were directed at him, but at the same time, I dropped them in ways that allowed them to be taken innocently, so I was never sure he picked up.

Still, I know he thinks I’m beautiful—he has mentioned it casually and indirectly to my boyfriend while telling him about a beautiful girl he saw who reminded him of me—her poise and composure.

I know he finds me sexy—I have caught his eyes on various parts of my body more than once.

Despite all that, we could have retained a proper distance—guys can appreciate these things without getting too worked up, especially if it’s a friend or the girl of a friend. They generally manage to be friendly but appropriate.

But I had to go and poke him and take things further.

I should have learned my lesson the first time.

Back when I was fifteen or so, I’d been a tomboy as long as I could remember and lived in a neighborhood filled with boys. I’m still not sure if I was the only girl or the daughters of others were never allowed outside, but there I was in my tomboy glory, hanging with the guys.

I was athletic and strong and more than just capable—anything they could do, I could do. I hit balls in our baseball games just as hard or harder. I climbed the same trees, jumped off roofs with them.

Then one day, one of those boys stopped by my house, and as usual, we shot the breeze. His family and mine were pretty close, so we were in and out of each others homes, no big deal. He and I even went to the same school.

Well, this particular day, I guess I shared a bit too much about being turned on by bodice-ripper romance books, the way the men just took what they wanted from women who wanted it too, but pretended like they didn’t.

He apparently thought that’s what I was asking him to do, and the next thing I knew, he was on top of me, restraining me.

Annoyed, I moved to push him off but realized he had an iron grip. No matter what I did, he overpowered me, and once I realized I was actually at his mercy, fear kicked in.

He was a fifteen-year-old kid like me, shorter than me by two inches, and not a muscle in sight. Turned out that didn’t matter—boys always held the physical advantage, I learned; I was just a puny girl after all.

I had to use my words to convince him to stop trying to kiss me, which he did eventually.

Now, as I avoid Michael with my eyes, breathing hard as he stares me down, I know I don’t stand a chance in hell.

Even without that experience in my teens, I don’t think I could have harbored any delusions about being able to overpower or fight off a guy like Michael—a full-grown man who is clearly supremely strong, and more than that, a highly skilled, trained machine.

I had no chance against him, even if he wasn’t all these things.

The physical disadvantage is undeniable, so I have to use whatever’s left.

“Nice of Reggie to volunteer, wasn’t it?” I say.

“Wasn’t it?” he says, widening the smile I can see out of the corner of my eye. There is no mistaking his meaning.

It’s killing me—this constant feeling that he is a moment away from pouncing.

I don’t know when it will happen, and it’s freaking me out.

But no—I can’t let him do this. I’ve seen what he’s done to others. I can’t let him wreck me.

“Michael…” I begin.

“Save it,” he says with a finality that shuts me down while speeding up my heart even more. It just might give out at this rate.

I feel like I’m about to learn exactly what it’s like to get smashed by him.

Or nailed?

Either way, here comes the hammer.