Cocky f@ker tangled desi.., p.1
Cocky F@#ker (Tangled Desires #3), page 1
Cocky F@#ker copyright © 2015 by Misti Murphy
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review. If you have not purchased this book from Amazon or received a copy from the author, you are reading a pirated book.
This book may contain mature content, sensitive subject matter, filthy language, and nuts. If you find yourself suffering adverse reactions such as; inability to sleep, cravings, sensitivity to heat, or carpal tunnel syndrome please feel free to contact the advice line at mistimurphy@mistimurphy.com
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Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.
Edited by Tami Lund
Cover Design by Clarissa at boomingcovers
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Other Books
About the Author
Stalk Me
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Mace
“Fuck him, Chelsea. He isn’t worth it.” Turning into her, I grasp her cheek, and surge forward to press my mouth to hers. She’s still trembling, her face all splotchy from the crying jag she’s on over Rush, but she freezes when I touch her.
Asshole. Fucker. Making me break her heart for him.
He never should have gotten involved with her in the first place. She’s not quite sixteen, too young for my eldest brother. Too sweet and vulnerable for his brand of bullshit. I shouldn’t be touching her the way I am, either. Shouldn’t whisper my lips over hers while she’s falling apart. Definitely shouldn’t hold her closer, squeeze her tight against my chest while I lick along the seam of those soft lips. I’m being selfish. I’m an asshole. I’m going to pull back.
Just as soon as I can gather my wits. Probably shouldn’t have shared that bottle of vodka with her. She tastes of it, and something sweeter. Smells like flowers. Come on, fucker. You can’t do this. She’s untouchable. Your brother’s ex as of tonight. Her tears aren’t even dry yet.
Oh shit. Her hands are bunched in my shirt. It’s freezing out here in the barn, the wind whistling through the gaps in the cladding, but I’m on fire where her knee and hip press to mine, when her hands touch me. They’re fucking heaven, skating over my chest through the cotton of my shirt, while her mouth opens to me so I can lick inside her.
“This is wrong.” She gasps, but her tongue darts against mine wildly, her hands jerky, uncontrolled as she slips them under my shirt.
I know it is, but I don’t want to stop. Fingers dancing over my abs have me hard for her. Not a first. Just the first time it’s been more than a wet dream or me jacking off and feeling like a dirty fucker for thinking about her like this. Wanting my brother’s girlfriend to be mine.
I yank at my shirt, pull it up over my head. She scrambles at it, jerking it free while I fumble with the zip on her parka, push it off her shoulders and pull her against me. Her perky tits fill my palms, nipples pebbling as I kiss the side of her mouth. “Fuck him, he left you. Left me to tell you. He isn’t worth it, Chelsea.”
I’d never make her cry the way he has.
She doesn’t push me away, but she should. Somewhere under the infusion of vodka and the pot I thought would be a good idea to add to the mix, I’m aware I’m fucking up. I should be ignoring her. I was supposed to tell her Rush left and then walk away, that’s all. I’m not supposed to be kissing her.
But she’s so damn responsive, winding her arms around my neck, melding us together. I want more of her, I want skin on skin. I can make her feel better. I can make her forget him.
Her chest heaves as I drag the white tank up over her head. Her pupils are dilated, her lips parted. She reaches for the buttons on my jeans.
This is going too far. I need to stop now. Just get up and walk away from her.
I press her down on the hay bales. It scratches at my skin, gets stuck in her hair while I scrape my hands down her sides, my mouth glued to hers. She’s intoxicating. One button, the slow metallic crunch of her zip, and I push her jeans over her hips.
She’s whimpering, her nails digging at my back while she writhes against me. The overhead light flickers with a surge of electricity, but it’s nothing compared to the current of arousal she’s unleashing in me.
I put my mouth to her throat, and her moan vibrates under my lips, her tits arch into me as I shove her jeans down her legs. Slim fucking legs, and red cotton panties. My breath catches in my throat. I want her so bad. So much it hurts.
Her fingers curl in my hair, tugging at my scalp, while I kiss along the dip between her tits, moving lower. Her belly shudders under my hot breath. “Mace.”
Nothing sweeter could have come from her lips. My pulse races and I tear her pants away, along with those panties. I need to stop now. It’s not too late. We can pretend this never happened. That I haven’t wanted her since the day I set my sight on her. The day Rush decided he wanted her, too.
Then she parts those slim thighs, showing the little patch of blonde curls, and her slick pussy, and all the blood runs to my dick. She’s desperate and needy for me. Me. Mine. I crawl over her, touching her where she’s wet for me, while I steal her mouth again, murmuring, “Chelsea, I want you so fucking much.”
She bites my lip, moans into my mouth as I push my finger into her.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispers, but she’s tugging on my pants, pushing them down over my hips, my cock getting caught where the buttons are too tight.
I push my finger in and out of her over and over, listening to her breathing ratchet up while she cums on my digit. It’s not enough, and she’s got the buttons undone, her hand in my boxers, tickling the head of my cock, and it’s slippery, leaking because I am dying to get inside her.
But I shouldn’t. I’m breaking the rules for her, but the knowledge is buried under the drive to have her on my dick. There’s nothing between us now except her hot fingers wrapped around my cock as she tugs me forward, leading me to where we both want me.
Inside her. I need to fuck her now. She’s wet and hot on the head of my cock, and my brain feels like it’s hemorrhaging as I slip between her slick folds. I swear I’ve been waiting for this moment for the last seventeen years, or at least as long as I’ve known her. “Fuck, Chelsea.”
So fucking tight she grips me, pulling me into her. Every instinct is to cum. Her breath hitches, something makes her tense up for a minute, and I don’t know if that’s normal, because this is the first time I’ve fucked anyone, but I’ve got a feeling it’s her first time too. I freeze, count to three, count to ten, do the alphabet backwards, until she loosens her grip on my shoulder, leaving dents in my skin.
I skate my mouth over hers. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes glaze, but she nods and then I’m moving inside her tight wet heat, pushing in, pulling out. With her heel driving into my ass, I kiss her lips, her throat, over and over. The hay bales shift, the old floorboards creak as we move faster. The need to cum is so intense, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. And then she’s whimpering in my ear, and I’m fucked if I’m ever going to let her go. I feel her whole body start to clench, her muscles contracting around my dick, and I’m cumming inside her. It’s insanity, the best feeling in the entire world.
When I roll onto my back, I take her with me, pulling pieces of hay from the tussled blonde halo of her hair and pressing her cheek to my chest. I rub silken strands between my fingers and thumb as she lies quietly in my arms. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this, and we’re going to have to talk about it, but I’m certain of one thing. I’m going to find a way to get her to forget Rush, to make her mine. Because there will never be anyone else who can measure up to her.
I fall asleep, or maybe we both fall asleep like that. I’m not sure. I wake freezing, still mostly naked, the hay itching the crap out of my back. No Chelsea. Only the empty vodka bottle on the floor of the barn and the first glimmers of sunlight slanting between the cladding. Dragging my shirt on, I toss my baseball cap over my hair and hide the empty bottle at the back of the haystack, then I wander back up to the house.
Mom glances up from the stove as I walk in the kitchen door. “You were up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” I get the juice and pour a glass while she fixes a plate, passing it to me on my way to the table where Claire, Tom, and Razer are seated.
My younger siblings, Tom and Claire, are in some heated discussion about whose turn it is to feed the chickens. Only Razer, my best friend and practically adopted brother, looks up from his breakfast as I sit down. Cutting into my egg, I glance at the empty seat beside me. Rush’s seat. Except he’s gone, and I fucked his girlfriend the night h
“Weird not to have him here,” Razer says around a mouthful. “No magic tricks with breakfast.”
I shrug. I don’t want to talk about it. I want to finish my breakfast and go to Chelsea’s. My gut is a little tight, since she left before we could talk about what happened.
Shit, we didn’t use protection. It’s not like it hasn’t been hammered into my head. How could I have forgotten?
I push away my plate, scooting my chair back. “I’m going to head over to Chelsea’s. She was pretty upset last night. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
Even to my own ears my excuses sound hollow, although the words are true. I want to make sure she doesn’t regret what we did, that she isn’t freaking out over us forgetting to use protection.
“Oh, she isn’t home,” Claire says.
“She came around before breakfast. She wanted the address for where he’s staying.” Mom’s hand lands on my shoulder, and my chest gets tight, but I can’t let it show.
Chelsea and I are barely friends. We’re not supposed to be lovers. I’m not meant to want the girl my brother dated.
“She went after him.” Claire practically swoons. “Isn’t that just so romantic?”
“It’s not romantic, Little Bit. You’re just a kid so you don’t understand,” Tom grumbles. “But it’s stupid to go after someone who dumped you. She’s a moron.”
“Don’t be mean, Tommy.” Mom tsks as she walks away from the table.
My stomach heaves, and I jump up and stalk outside, pacing the length of the vegetable garden, barely able to breathe. She went after him. He dumps her, by getting me to tell her he’s gone, and she goes after him? Even after what we did?
It fucking stings. I get to the furthest fence post and have to stop. Planting my hands on my knees, I fight the chunks that rise in my throat.
“Are you okay?” Razer asks, following me, his hands shoved in his pockets.
And I can’t say no, because this is one secret I’ve kept from my best friend. The girl I’ve been in love with since the first time I saw her across the school cafeteria will never be mine. She’s Rush’s, and he doesn’t even fucking want her. “Just hungover.”
A spark of anger starts in my chest, bristling under my skin as he walks back toward the house. I can’t contain it so I lash out and smash my hand into the wire of the fence.
Everything’s fucking fantastic.
Chapter One
Mace
“Thanks for walking me home, guys.” Chelsea opens the door and kicks off her high heeled red sandals, the ones that make her legs look like they go on forever and have made it impossible for me not to stare at her all fucking night. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
But she and I have unfinished business. That’s nothing unusual when it comes to Chelsea Taylor. It’s almost our tag line. Our entire relationship from when we were teens, for the last ten years, until now has been a series of unfinished moments. And I’m fucking over it. I press a hand to the door as she goes to shut it. “How about one last drink? It’s been a long time since the last time we had a night like this.”
Her eyes widen a little. It’s fucking cute how she acts surprised when she knows we have things we need to talk about. Things I need to get off my chest.
Coming home hasn’t been easy. Seeing her again after four long years is more irritating than enjoyable. Ok, that might be a lie, is a lie. Seeing her again is like it always is, like it was before I left, like it was in Vegas. But that isn’t the point. If I’m going to settle back here, surrounded by my family, which includes her, then there are things we need to bury properly this time around.
Tom, my youngest brother, grins. “I could go for another beer.”
He’s drunk, swaying slightly, but then he probably doesn’t usually drink like we did tonight. I’ve had a lot more practice and it was mostly rotgut stuff, so dirty it can scour your insides.
“Sure.” She half-shrugs, stepping out of the doorway, letting us in.
A long tufted ottoman sits centered in the middle of the living space, topped by an oak tray that holds her mother’s prized possession; the globe her mother kept before she started gallivanting around the world. Not much has changed since the last time I was here.
I’ve thought that a lot tonight. That not much has changed. That my family are the same, the town the same. But I’ve changed. I’ve seen things, done things that change a man whether he likes it or not.
Truth be told, being here in the middle of the night works for me since I don’t sleep much anyway. Haven’t for the past six months. At first it was the pain in my shoulder and my hip, superfluous injuries from my time overseas. And the nightmares. The pain faded and so did the nightmares. Now I wake with the edges of something similar to them, but not with the detail. More a sense, a feeling that crawls into my gut like sand. The smell. The heat. In some ways they’re worse than the nightmares. More… real.
Tom collapses on the couch, throws his head back and shuts his eyes. Yeah, he probably doesn’t need anything more to drink. Still, I follow Chelsea as she pads through the living space and into the kitchen. Its long picture windows are awash with darkness and stars. It reminds me of nights spent in our backyard as kids, staring up at them while we all laid around the fire pit talking shit. Rush, me, Razer, Tommy, Claire, and of course her. Back then, she’d be curled up on the blanket between me and Rush. Holding hands with my brother, flame shadows dancing over her face. I could never tear my gaze away, though I tried.
I stretch my shoulders, wait for the crack, the pop as I shake out the tension that has settled between my shoulder blades. She still has no idea how much time I spent wishing it was me she was with back then.
“Beer or something a little harder?” She bends over to get a beer from the fridge, her tight ass highlighted by these soft white shorts that hug around the hips before they flare over her curves. I’m going to need something stronger.
I lick my lips as I get closer. My fingers itch to explore the soft edge of those shorts and the creamy skin of her thighs. Yeah. I’m definitely going to need something stronger. Like a bullet.
Because I’m a sucker for punishment. Because I’m going to ask her about the annulment. “Tommy looks pretty rat shit. I don’t think he needs anymore to drink, but I’ll have a scotch if you’ve got any.”
“In the study.” She tilts her head in the direction of the room off the living space—although I don’t need the reminder—and her hair brushes her arm.
Her hair got longer while I was gone, blonder too if that’s possible. It falls like a shiny fucking waterfall over her shoulder and has me itching to run my fingers through it. “I remember.”
I remember a lot of things. Like the way she used to smile at me without the wariness in her eyes. And the way her skin felt under my palms, glistening with sweat from the heat that night we shared in Vegas.
Pushing open the door of the study, I spy the cupboard where her mom always kept the hard liquor. I wonder if she ever clued in on the fact that we used to sneak in or a regular basis. Probably. We certainly weren’t very smart back then.
I’m not sure we’re any better now. The key sits on top of the old, dented, armoire style cupboard, and I unlock it, rifling through the contents until I find the scotch.
“So Tommy’s passed out.” She lounges in the doorway, observing me, her arms around her middle. Wary, as though I’m the enemy and not someone she was once friends with.
“Figures,” I mutter. Actually, I was counting on it. Turning around, I use my hip to shut the cupboard. “He’s all right where he is, though?”
She glances over her shoulder and crosses her ankles. “He looks awfully uncomfortable.”
Don’t we all?
“Well, I’m not carrying the fucker home.” I spin the lid off the scotch and pour a liberal dose into a couple of tumblers on top of the armoire. Chelsea’s the only girl I’ve met who can drink scotch like a man. It’s one of the qualities I actually used to like about her. Unlike her always wavering decision making skills. That’s definitely something I could have done without in my life.
