Chapter 2
Maren
This is not at all how I expected to be ending my dry spell. Wearing a bridesmaid dress and no panties, in my best friend’s bathroom.
With the man I hate.
Trevor Bradshaw is the last guy in the world I should fuck. He’s arrogant. Short tempered. Demanding. Impatient and unwilling to compromise.
Unfortunately, he’s also very attractive, and seems relatively proficient in navigating the female anatomy. So, still better than most of the men I’ve screwed.
There’s no accounting for taste.
But maybe the universe is trying to save my stupid ass.
Because after making what I want abundantly clear, Trevor simply stares at me.
Barely blinking his eyes. And that really pisses me off.
Considering the way he’s acted over the last year, he should feel fucking blessed that I’m willing to ride his dick.
Should be on his knees thanking me with the mouth he never stops running.
“You know what? Never mind.” I fling the hem of my dress toward the floor. “You probably couldn’t get me off anyway.”
I spin away, opening the door so I can get the fuck out of here. I’ll come collect my hair tools another time. Zara will just have to deal with French braids until I get my curling irons back.
But I only manage to get the door open a few inches before it slams shut again, one of Trevor’s hands spread across the surface as his front blankets my back. His other palm flattens against my belly, pinning me to the hard plane of his chest. “Is that a challenge?”
“It’s obviously a challenge, dick.” Is he dense?
I already know the answer to that. Trevor is brilliant when it comes to business matters, but as far as interpersonal relationships go, the man might as well be a rock.
Based on the feel of the abs against my spine, he might actually be a rock.
It’s not like I don’t know he works out.
His bespoke suits fit entirely too well, and I’ve seen him in his swim trunks on a few occasions at this point.
But seeing and feeling are two very different things.
And it feels like Trevor is solid as stone. Every inch of him.
Including the ones prodding at my left ass cheek.
“Everything is with you, isn’t it.” His voice is a low growl against my ear. “It would kill you to be nice to me, wouldn’t it?”
“I think offering you the opportunity to fuck me is pretty nice.” I turn my head, meeting my eyes to his. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at it.”
Not for a while, though, which is likely why I’m breathless and two steps away from hiking my skirt back up and taking care of this myself.
It turns out having a kid around all the time is a giant cock block.
It’s also time consuming, financially draining…
And the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Trevor angles a brow. “Are you sure they weren’t just trying to stroke your ego?”
“I think my ego was the last thing they were thinking about stroking.” I twist in his arms, fighting the grip he has on me until we’re face-to-face. “Are we doing this or not? Because I have somewhere to be.”
I can afford a very limited number of babysitting hours each month, and do my best to spend them wisely. Most of them go toward girls’ night, and the rest I save up for special occasions. Like today.
But that budget is tight, and the clock is running down.
Trevor’s eyes narrow on my face. “Somewhere more important than your best friend’s wedding?”
“Yes.” I don’t even have to consider it.
Zara is my priority. Has been since the day she unexpectedly took over my life.
I wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would Brooke.
She’s one of the few people who knows the full story of how Zara came into my life.
There’s no tighter friendship than one forged on swapping childhood trauma stories.
“So you can either get your dick out, or I’m leaving. ”
I don’t mind being vocal when it comes to sex. My time is hella limited. I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste it on something that doesn’t serve me. And, generally speaking, I haven’t found men to be particularly skilled at serving me without direction. Luckily, I don’t mind bossing people around.
Specifically penis-possessing people.
Trevor holds my eyes as he straightens, gaze intense as both hands go to the waistband of his pants. In one smooth action, he flicks the buckle of his belt open and slides the entire thing free, the end giving a little snap against the air as it flicks loose.
And somehow I feel that little snap in my clit.
My eyes lock onto his long fingers as they open the button and lower the zipper of his fly before shoving everything down. The thick weight of his cock bobs free, pointing straight at me like it’s making a request. Or possibly an accusation.
Unsurprisingly, his dick is just as pretty as the rest of him. Well proportioned, with smooth, satiny looking skin, and a hint of a curve that probably hits just the right spot.
I’m about to find out.
“Well?” Trevor lifts his brows at me.
I scoff. “I’m not gonna bask in its glory, if that’s what you’re expecting.”
“I appreciate that you find my dick glorious, but he can’t do this job all by himself.” Trevor tips his head at the hem of my dress. “Skirt up, sweetheart.”
I roll my eyes, because he’s so fucking cocky. There better be a reason for it, or I’m going to be pissed. Grabbing my dress, I spin away, dragging it up to my waist before gripping the edge of the vanity and presenting him with my ass. “Do your worst.”
Trevor looks at my ass, then lifts his eyes to meet mine in the mirror. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Before I can even begin cussing him out for acting so goddamn unimpressed, my whole body is off the ground and turned midair. The ass I just so graciously displayed hits the counter of the vanity as we come face-to-face.
And cock to pussy.
“If you want me to fuck you like that, you’ll have to bring a stool next time.” He shucks his button up then drags the hem of his undershirt halfway up his torso. “Because I’m not squatting for twenty minutes.”
“I think twenty minutes is being awfully generous.” I grip his shoulders as he drags my body closer to the edge.
“What can I say? I’m a generous guy.” Trevor sinks into me with no warning or preamble.
Which is more than fine, because I don’t have time for preamble.
His eyes fuse to my face as he bottoms out, like he’s scrutinizing my expression for a specific reaction. Probably for judgment. But I don’t care. Not as long as he gets me off and scratches the itch that’s been plaguing me for months.
Unfortunately, there’s not much of a reaction to have, because it’s a pretty basic thrust. I swear to God if he is the sort of guy who just goes to pound town until he nuts, I’m going to strangle him to death with a curling iron cord.
Trevor’s eyes narrow as he changes the trajectory of his next attempt. Again he watches me like a hawk.
And again, I’m underwhelmed.
“How the fuck does Tucker do this shit?” The mumbled words are still coming out of his lips as one arm bands across my back, hauling me off the counter like I weigh nothing as he spins to the wall opposite the vanity.
My back presses to the drywall, the positioning putting us eye to eye as he grips my thighs, using the hold to keep me suspended.
The next time he moves, I suck in a sharp breath. Now, instead of just poking at me while I try to maintain my balance teetering on the edge of the sink, his whole pelvis grinds against me as his hips pivot instead of push. And holy fuck balls does it change everything.
To my dismay, Trevor seems to know it too.
He smirks as I suck in another breath when that delicious curve I spotted earlier finds its mark. “Careful. You keep making sounds like that and I’m going to think you like taking my cock.”
I will never admit it—not even under threat of death—but I might not hate the way Trevor Bradshaw fucks.
He might’ve gotten off to a rocky start, but the man is nothing if not a solution finder.
I see it all the time at the office, so it doesn’t really surprise me it would carry over into his personal life.
Not that I think he has a personal life. Pretty sure this guy is as one-sided as it gets. All work and no play.
It’s why he’s such a dull boy.
Trevor shifts his hips again, pressing me a little higher on the wall, and giving himself greater field of motion. It also makes it possible to support my weight with only one hand.
The other comes to the neckline of my dress.
The deep V cut means he barely has to tug at all to expose my breasts.
They’re not big and bountiful, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
Actually, based on the deep rumbling groan he lets out as one nipple disappears between his lips, Trevor might even like them.
And I have to admit, I like that he likes them. A lot.
Each flick of his tongue and pulse of suction winds me up tighter and tighter. Until I’m right on the cusp of getting what I want.
Trevor pulls his mouth free of my body, his attention coming back to my face. He pauses, body fully impaling mine, rocking his hips in a way that gives my clit the full contact it needs. And sending me right over the edge.
It feels so fucking good, I lose myself for a minute, forgetting to keep any sounds I’m making to a minimum. Before I can be loud enough to bring attention our way, Trevor’s mouth seals over mine, swallowing down the moan sliding free.
I didn’t expect there would be kissing during this interaction, but I don’t hate the demanding way Trevor’s lips steal my breath, or the taste of bourbon clinging to his tongue.
He’s actually not terrible at this. If he manages to keep his mouth shut about it, I might even be up for a repeat performance.
One where I can put a little more of my own skills on display.
Trevor’s movements lose a little of their smoothness and his mouth pulls from mine. He buries his face in my neck, growling out a ragged fuck as he bucks against me, gripping my ass so hard it’s going to leave bruises.
And since I’m a dirty, dirty girl, the thought of seeing them later has me clenching around him as an aftershock ripples through me. Trevor groans again, his hips flexing in response to the squeeze of my pussy.
I’m feeling pretty fucking good, basking in the afterglow of a pretty decent orgasm, when the door swings open and Ruth barges in. She stops short and stares at us, open-mouthed.
I stare back, because what the fuck else am I gonna do? I’m still pinned to the wall, dangling midair with Trevor balls deep in my pussy.
Without a word, she spins away, slamming the door behind her.
Trevor’s head falls back on a groan that is way less sexy than the ones earlier. “She’s gonna fucking kill me.”
“If she hasn’t murdered you already, I think you’re in the clear.” I wiggle. “Put me down. I’ve got shit to do.”
He lowers me to the floor, holding on until I swat his hands away.
Going to the water closet, I pull a strand of toilet paper loose, wadding it up to wipe the bulk of his mess from between my legs before flushing it down. I turn to find Trevor watching me with a scrutinizing gaze.
I lift my brows. “What? I’m not walking around with your jizz running down my legs.”
“I was thinking we probably should have discussed the need for precautions.”
I walk past, shoving him back with one hand as I go.
“I’m on the pill.” I grab my bag from where I dropped it in the corner, opening it by one handle before beginning to haphazardly cram in my hair tools.
“And I’m more than happy to forward you my medical records if you’re worried about something else. ”
Trevor huffs out a laugh. “I wasn’t worried.”
“I don’t actually care.” When all my curling irons are in place, I drop in brushes, combs, and styling products.
“Aren’t you worried about yourself?” Trevor sounds genuinely confused.
Which is almost cute.
But only almost.
I snort as I add the last few items to my bag and zip it up. “I’ve met you, Trevor. You are fucking meticulous when it comes to your body.” I straighten, slinging the bag over one shoulder. “So, no. I’m not worried.” I step toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta bounce.”
He steps toward me, like he plans to follow. “Don’t you think we should talk about this?”
“Why?” I open the door, breathing out a sigh of relief when there are no judgmental eyeballs on the other side waiting for my walk of shame. “It was just sex.”
“So you’re just going to come to work Monday and act like nothing happened?” Trevor sounds shocked. Like he can’t imagine for a second that’s possible.
Joke’s on him. Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
“Yup.” I stride through Brooke and Toby’s bedroom, hurrying out into the hall without looking back. I don’t have time for second thoughts or second glances. I’m running late. The sitter could only stay until seven, and it’s almost six thirty.
After getting my purse and swiping another piece of cake for the ride home, I jump into the sedan I’m trading in tomorrow and aim for home.
I pull into the trailer park where I rent a single-wide with three minutes to spare.
Lauren—the cute high school girl Zara likely loves more than she loves me—is already putting on her shoes when I walk in the door.
I drop my bags on the tiny table situated in the eating area across from our galley kitchen. “Everything go okay?”
“Everything was awesome.” Lauren jumps up, looking every bit the cheerleader she is with a wide smile and perky tone. “I just love your sister. She’s one of my favorite people.”
“That’s because she doesn’t give you the shit she gives me.” I go to the fridge and pull out a diet soda. “Which is probably good. If she did, you would never babysit for me again.”
Lauren gives me a dimpled smile. “I will always babysit for you.” She bounces toward the door, pausing before stepping out onto the porch. “Oh. Some guy came to the door looking for a woman named Janine. I told him she didn’t live here, but he didn’t look like he believed me.”
Any residual dopamine still coursing through my veins evaporates. “Did he leave his name?”
Lauren shakes her head, cute little nose wrinkling. “No, but he was gross.”
I’m sure he was. Gross and sketchy and probably strung out.
Those are the only kind of people who come looking for my mother.