Chapter 3 – Alexis
3
That Was Fast
Alexis
“FINE. TREEHOUSE. Fifteen minutes.”
My jaw drops and words fail me. Gavin takes full advantage, using that time to stalk back into the house, leaving me alone on the deck with nothing but an odd flipping in my belly to keep me company.
For just a second, my punch-punched brain skips its way into a place I haven’t allowed it to go in years. Things have definitely changed since I was there last. I’m older. Wiser. Somewhat more experienced.
As a teenager, I imagined kissing him. Cuddling with him. We might have even made it to fictional first base. Now I’m rounding those things like a home run champion, flashes of scandalous scenarios my youthful brain never would have concocted pulling my nipples tight and making my clit beat like a tiny tambourine.
The problem is, it’s all bullshit. Gavin isn’t really interested in me. Never has been. Never will be.
And I’m not interested in him. Not really. I have zero desire to be with someone as outgoing and social as my parents. Spending my adult life suffering through frequent get-togethers and nights out sounds like a complete nightmare.
Plus the man is famous. Everywhere Gavin goes, people fawn all over him, taking photos and wanting autographs.
No fucking thank you.
Smoothing down my hair, I take a deep breath and smile, feeling better now that the unwanted detour my filthy little mind tried to take has been diverted back to the straight and narrow.
And my straight and narrow is irritated.
“Fucking prick.”
I snatch up the scarf, getting angrier as I look down at the item. It’s flipping gorgeous and feels like butter under my fingers. I also looks remarkably similar to the one looped around my neck. I don’t know why he would remember something like that, or what in the hell would possess him to get this for me, but I don’t want it.
Even though I kinda want it.
I carry it along with me as I march down the steps leading off the deck and across the yard. Pausing at the bottom of the ladder leading to the stilted wood structure my dad built over twenty years ago, I decide not to attempt it in my shoes. After taking a second to work them off, I clutch the heels in one hand, the scarf box in the other, and start to climb, using my wrists and elbows to grip. Reaching the top, I shimmy my way onto the platform before getting to my bare feet and slinging open the door.
In the years since I moved out on my own, the treehouse has changed pretty significantly. My mom has turned it from a simple sort of structure with bare wood floors and open-air windows to a fully decked out she-shed, complete with a pillow-stacked daybed, a plush area rug, and a glittering chandelier. It also sports double-hung windows, a salvaged antique door, and an air-conditioning unit.
The place is way nicer than when I was a kid, but I’m not complaining. I’ve taken advantage of its rustic luxury every Christmas for the past few years, spending the night of the annual party piled on the bed in comfort, scrolling on my phone while I run down the clock.
And that’s what I’m going to do again tonight. Because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, Gavin won’t be putting his money where his mouth is.
Dropping my shoes to the carpet, I take a guilty second to run the tips of my fingers over the luxurious scarf he gave me, scowling at how silky soft it is. Maybe I can wear it a couple times before I send it off in a garbage bag of clothes destined for the local women’s shelter.
“Ugh.” Disgusted with myself and my weakness for nice things, I sling the box onto one of the small tables flanking the daybed.
“You’re early.”
My stomach drops and I nearly choke on my spit as I gasp in shock at Gavin’s voice behind me. Spinning, I find his hulking form taking up the entirety of the doorway. “What are you doing here?”
Gavin ducks his head so he can clear the low frame, but straightens to his full height once he’s inside, the sheer bulk of him making my mouth dry. A man his size could throw a woman around without breaking a freaking sweat—an assumption that has me feeling hot all over again.
He grips the edge of the door and swings it closed, the move just as silent as his ascent into the treehouse had been. “You asked me to prove something and I’m here to do it.” His face is shadowed, making it impossible to read his expression. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
Is he trying to turn this around on me? Make me take the blame for his bullshit? Like fucking hell he will.
I stand taller, even though it still only brings me up to his mid chest now that I’m without my shoes. “I haven’t changed my mind.” Lifting my chin, I square my shoulders, still certain he’s going to back down and admit this is all exactly what I think it is.
Gavin acting like I’m still a little girl he can tease and taunt.
He shifts on his feet, hands restless at his sides, fisting tight a second before his long fingers stretch and twitch. When his shoulders drop, I nearly smile in victory, but the expression is stalled by a twinge of disappointment I’m going to ignore and deny until my dying breath.
Then he steps toward me and my heart stutters to a stop. I’m frozen in place, bare feet fused to the rug as he closes in, crowding me in a way that makes me want to run almost as much as it makes me want to stay put.
Just to see what happens.
When he reaches for me, my lungs join my heart, abandoning their task as every cell in my body zeroes in on the tip of his pointer as it meets the front of my throat, sliding like a whisper down my skin, tracing the dip between my collarbones. His voice is just as gentle when he says, “You’re so soft, Al.”
I must have chugged more punch than I thought, because I think I’m going to pass out. “I moisturize.” My brain barely registers how dumb of a response that was because Gavin’s wandering finger is now sliding under the neckline of my dress to skim over the swell of one boob. As if I’m possessed by some lust-driven entity, I arch my back, encouraging him to touch more of me.
My sex life has been incredibly lackluster thanks to my shining personality and engaging temperament. I’m not the girl men approach at bars, and my chances of catching their romantic attention drop even lower when they meet me without the influence of alcohol.
I can’t fake interest. Even when I can make myself say all the right words, my face gives me away. I don’t like small talk and I can’t flirt, so my body count is in the single digits.
More accurately, one single digit.
“Can I touch you?” Gavin’s deep voice is a little hesitant, which is weird because, based on what I’ve heard, the man has enough experience for both of us.
And probably a few of his friends.
“You are touching me.” My own voice is breathy and filled with need, which is also weird because… No. It’s not weird. I am filled with need and struggling to breathe.
Gavin moves in a little more, that taunting touch still steering clear of anything worthwhile. “I mean really touch you.”
The urge to continue arguing even though I know what he means is strong, but not as strong as the desire to see how far he’s willing to take this. “You can touch me however you want.” My eyes dip down the front of his well-muscled frame. “Can I touch you?”
“ No .” The word is harsh. Gavin closes his eyes, going still for a second before opening them to meet mine, quietly repeating the single word. “No.”
I’m not sure how to take that, but it becomes irrelevant when the finger toying with my neckline hooks into the flannel fabric, dragging that side of my wrap dress down, along with the bra beneath it, to bare my entire tit.
I could swear Gavin’s breath catches, but that’s got to be my imagination. He’s seen enough boobs that my ample—and God given—DD-cups shouldn’t even faze him. That’s probably why I don’t feel shy over the focused way he’s staring as he palms one, the size of his hand easily scooping up every bit of my flesh. When the rough pad of his thumb skims across my tight nipple, a whimper slips from my lips.
Gavin’s eyes snap to my face, his gaze simmering with intensity as he repeats the motion, this time adding his finger so he can roll the sensitive peak until it’s so hard it almost aches. I’m about to crawl out of my skin with need when his head dips, the long line of his big body nearly folding in half as his mouth closes over my nipple, drawing on it in a pulse that shoots straight between my thighs.
When he tugs down the other side of my dress and pulls that already beaded tip past his lips, I go a little feral, hands fumbling around in search of his fly, desperate to get more. To get all I can. It’s been so long since I’ve been filled, and even then it left a lot to be desired.
A lot .
But so far Gavin is proving his skill set, and I want to know what it’s like to have someone else get me off. Preferably while his thick cock pistons in and out of me.
And holy hell is his cock thick.
I free it from the prison of his jeans, peeking down as I wrap my hand around the base. Squeezing tight, I give the length a pump, dragging the pad of my thumb through a drop of wetness that sneaks out to greet me.
Gavin’s mouth pulls off my boob with a pop, his hands going to my hips, fingers sinking into their curving softness as he groans into my hair. He shudders as I give his cock another tug, and feminine power surges through my veins, riding the back of arousal and excitement.
I can’t believe I have my hand on Gavin’s cock. His very big, very hard, very heavy cock.
“Al, you’ve got to stop.” Gavin’s voice is as strained and tight as the hold he has on me. “I can’t—” His voice breaks, chest heaving with raspy breaths. “Fuck, that feels so good.” His hands move to my ass, gripping each cheek tight as he pulls me closer. “So fucking perfect.”
The only guy I’ve ever been with never made a peep during sex. Not a moan. Not a whisper of dirty talk. Not even a grunt.
Gavin doesn’t seem to be like that. At all. And I love it. I love hearing how into this he is. How much he likes my hand on him. How—
“Shit. No .” Gavin tries to pull away from me, but I got caught up in the moment and managed to tangle around him. A leg’s hooked at his thigh and one hand is fisted in his shirt. The other’s… Well…
His dick flexes against my palm as his body goes rigid.
Oh shit. Am I doing something wrong? Has he realized how little I know about this and now has yet another thing to tease me about? “Gavin? Are you ok—”
One hand leaves my ass to tangle in my hair, pinning my front to his as a rumbling moan vibrates through his chest. There’s a sudden warmth against my belly and my hand starts to feel wet.
Uhh…
Gavin releases me, dick pulling from my grip. The move is so sudden and unexpected I wobble a little as I look down my front, trying to make sense of what just happened.
Pinching at the fabric clinging to my middle, I pull it away from my skin, staring at the spot a second longer before shooting the wide-eyed rugby player in front of me an accusing glare. “Did you just Bill Clinton me?”