Authors: Lucy Felthouse
Tags: #fling, #Contemporary Erotica, #Noble Romance Publishing, #contemporary, #Lucy Felthouse, #male/female, #LLC, #Erotica
A Bit of Rough
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
A Bit of Rough Copyright 2011 Lucy Felthouse
Cover Art by Fiona Jayde
Edited by Kerry Manzo
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.
When Alison meets Andrew ("call me Drew"), she instantly pegs him as a moron.
He's a total bad boy and does nothing but chain smoke and brag about his stream of past conquests. Yet, much to her confusion, Alison still finds herself attracted to him.
She's not had sex in a while, so Alison figures there's no harm in going home with him to get herself a bit of rough.
A Bit of Rough
By Lucy Felthouse
When I met Andrew through friends of friends, I instantly pegged him as a bit of a moron. We were in a pub, and he was telling anybody that would listen about the many mishaps in his love life. Turns out he was quite the ladies' man and had many close calls. The one he was regaling the room with when I arrived was an incident where he'd blown off a woman for the evening, only for her to turn up at his house and see him getting hot and heavy with someone else. Despite the fact he was mocking himself, it sounded like he was desperate for the people listening to know just
women had been in his life, for however brief an interlude. He was one of those guys you love to hate. And yet, I still fancied him rotten. It was totally bizarre. He was not my type at all.
He was just a little taller than me, slim and lightly tattooed. His facial hair was somewhere between stubble and beard, his hair had no discernable style, and he smoked. I like my men tall, muscular, and clean-shaven. And I hate smoking.
Therefore, it took me a while to put my finger on the reason—or reasons—for my odd attraction to the guy. When I finally worked it out, it was like a light bulb clicked on in my head.
He was—or at least he thought he was—a bad boy. What many would call "a bit of rough." He was the guy you never introduced to your friends and certainly not to your parents. You kept him completely under wraps—preferably between the sheets—and enjoyed.
I got the vibe from his oozing self-confidence and the way he recounted his colorful sex life, that he was probably good in bed. I resolved to find out. I didn't need to make a move; his arrogance assured him he was irresistible to all women, and he came on to me, knowing I wouldn't refuse.
I almost did, just to take him down a peg or two. But he was hot, and I was horny, so I didn't mind him picking me up. After all, I had no intention of becoming one of his amusing anecdotes. I wasn't going to stick around long enough for that. I was simply in it for my "bit of rough"—then I was a goner.
We decided to go back to his place. I wouldn't have been bothered either way, but it was clear he felt more comfortable in familiar surroundings. Plus, the more I thought about it, the more I realized going to his place was the more sensible option.
I could scoot home whenever I wanted, and he'd never know where to find me. Not that I thought for a moment he was the type to stand below my bedroom window, declaring undying love, but I wasn't about to take that chance.
As Andrew and I left the bar, my friend Jodi grabbed me for a "quick word." I excused myself and went with her to the Ladies' for our chat.
"What's the matter?" I asked her, eager now to hit the road with my conquest.
Or was I his?
"What are you doing?" Jodi asked. "You know he's a total man-whore, don't you?"
I grinned. "Of course. That's why I'm going home with him. I'm horny, he's gorgeous, and I reckon he'll be a great lay. Don't worry; I've no intention of making him a permanent fixture. This is a one-off, no strings attached."
"Fair enough. Have fun!"
I made to leave, but Jodi added, "Alison?"
I groaned, hoping I wasn't about to get a lecture on safe sex from my lovely-yet-sensible friend. That was the last thing I needed, and it would completely kill my buzz. Not to mention condoms were a given, especially with a guy I knew slept around.
"Give him one for me, will ya?"
It seemed Andrew even appealed to the sensible girls.
Back at Andrew's, I gave the place a once-over whilst he was in the kitchen getting us drinks. It was definitely at the low-scale end of bachelor pads, a small, one-bedroomed flat with very little room to maneuver. One might call it cozy, if one was being polite. The place was, however, extremely clean and tidy—much to my relief. Either this guy was a clean freak, or he had a helping hand with the housework from his mum. I hoped it was the former; that boded better for his personal hygiene, which affected me much more than whether the TV had been dusted.
I flopped onto the living room sofa just in the nick of time. Andrew smiled as he handed over my drink.
"Thanks," I said. "Nice place you've got here."
"It's not bad. Much smaller than I'd like, but it's all I can afford at the moment.
It's cozy, though, isn't it?"
I grinned inwardly, anticipating his next words.
"It just means we'll have to snuggle up closer, doesn't it?"
If I hadn't been so horny, I'd have laughed out loud. But he was hot and eager. I wasn't going to risk crushing that huge ego. Not until I'd had my wicked way with him, anyway.
We sat and sipped at our drinks, making small talk with lots of meaningful eye contact. There was never any question over what was going to happen next; it was just a case of when. I found myself getting antsy, not to mention increasingly horny, and so thought I'd propel the action forward somewhat.
I knocked back my drink and set it on the table next to the sofa. Then I stood up and said, "Can I use your bathroom please?"
"Sure, it's just through there." He indicated the hallway leading off the room we were in.
I wandered through, did what I needed to do, and then inspected myself in the mirror, making sure I had no unsightly make-up smudges, or anything stuck in my teeth. After primping myself a little, I headed back into the living room. Andrew was nowhere to be seen, though I knew he wasn't far away, as I heard clinking glasses. He was washing up.
I followed the sound into the tiny kitchen and padded up behind him, unsure if he'd heard me or not. I wasn't bothered if he had noticed me or not; by this point, I just wanted to claim my prize.
I slipped my arms around his waist, deliberately pushing my breasts into his back and whispered into his ear, "Come on sweetie, I'm sure those can wait, can't they? We have better things to be getting on with."
Andrew stretched across the draining board, swiftly wiped his hands on a tea towel, and turned in my arms. Leaning down to kiss me, he said, "We most certainly do."
He tasted faintly of cigarette smoke and more strongly of peppermint from a mint or some gum he'd clearly been munching to mask the smell. Oddly, the combination was a turn on. I hated smoking, but somehow the dirty habit fit perfectly with his pure masculinity. Once again, I wasn't sure if I was the hunter or the prey. But I didn't care. I was about to get my bit of rough.
In classic cliché style, I took Andrew's hand and led him in the direction of what I hoped was the bedroom—the only place in the flat where I'd yet to go.
Luckily, my powers of deduction were correct, and I opened the door and stepped inside, not knowing what to expect. I was pleasantly surprised and even more convinced his mum did his cleaning. His bedroom was definitely not as dirty as his smoking habit. As with the rest of the flat, the room was small but tidy. The bed was made up in simple blue cotton—
. I wasn't sure I'd be able to curb my hilarity if we'd started slipping and sliding on black silken sheets.
Andrew let go of my hand and headed to the window. Mercifully, he pulled the curtains shut. The last thing we needed was one of his exes peering through the window as we fucked—as had happened in one of the tales of his past that he'd regaled us with in the pub.
He sat on the bed, pulled off his shoes, tossed them out of the way, and beckoned to me. I slipped off my own shoes and walked over to him. As I stood in front of him, my breasts were directly in front of his face. He didn't seem to mind and responded by cupping them together and grinning with undisguised delight at the impressive cleavage this created beneath my V-neck top.
I grinned back then leaned down to kiss him. His considerable stubble grazed my face, but it served only to heighten my arousal. Grabbing my waist, Drew pulled me toward him, and we tumbled onto the bed, where I ended up sat astride him.
Like that wasn't planned, eh?
From the off, I knew my hunch about his bedroom skills had been correct. His kissing technique and every touch were sublime. Before long, we were down to our underwear. That's when I got my first surprise. I knew the guy had tattoos, but—
. He was covered in them.
"How many tattoos do you have?"
"Let's see 'em then."
Far from ruining the moment, this gave me the chance to stare openly at his gorgeous body without appearing weird or giving him an even bigger head.
Drew pointed out every decoration and told me about each one—why he'd gotten it and when. Turns out, he'd been around more than I thought. Most of the designs were dotted around his chest and arms, with one on his leg. However, when I was properly introduced to the one on his torso, I had to stop myself pouncing on him. Tattoos can be unsightly, particularly in excess, but they suited him and the whole 'bad boy' image. The one on his stomach was huge, a tribal pattern stretching from his belly button down . . .
. . . how far, I couldn't quite tell, as he was still in his boxers. I would have to remedy that.
"Come on then," I said. "Let's see the rest of it."
Smirking, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down—a fraction—just enough to see the rest of the design, which ended just above his pubic hair.
I loved this particular tattoo, as much for its location as anything else, and told him so. Except for the bit about the location, of course. That part, I decided to show him.
Pushing him onto his back, I sat astride him once more, but much farther down, so I was able to lean down and kiss his stomach. Which I did.
I kissed and licked every millimeter of skin adorned with the design, and soon enough felt an excitable cock pressed against my throat. I grabbed Drew's waistband and pulled his boxers down, purposely scratching him with my nails as I did so. I heard a sharp intake of breath, and his dick twitched uncontrollably. So he was into a bit of pain, eh? I couldn't say I was surprised. The tats kind of gave it away.
When his cock was revealed, I got it. This guy had an unfair advantage when it came to being excellent in the sack. He could just lie there and do nothing, and he'd still be good. I can honestly say I've never seen one as big as that before, and probably never will again. Not only was his shaft long, but it was thick too. I guessed that if I put my hand around the girth, my fingers wouldn't reach my thumb.
It stood proudly from his well-groomed pubes, the shortness of which only accentuated the size of his erection. Throwing his boxer shorts to the floor, I touched his cock, determined not to let him see how intimidated I was by his size. Gripping his penis, I proved myself right on the fingers-touching-thumb-thing. Swallowing a gulp, I slowly wanked him off, watching closely as his foreskin rolled back and forth, displaying a meaty-looking bell-end. Soon, it was seeping with pre-come, and I leaned down and stuck my tongue into the tiny slit at its tip, tasting his arousal.
Slowly, slowly, I slid my lips down over the head of his cock, keeping the tightest grip I could. Glancing up, I saw Drew's eyes were squeezed shut. I smiled inwardly then started to suck wetly on the tip of his cock. Now his eyes flew open wide, and he moaned in earnest.
Snaking a hand between his thighs, I caressed his balls, alternately stroking them and dragging my nails across the skin. This was clearly the right thing to do, as suddenly a hand came down on top of my head. But rather than being a "I'm trying to make you deep throat me" gesture, it was a "slow down."
"Sweetie, as good as that feels, you're going to have to stop, or I'll come. Let me give you some special treatment now."
I didn't need telling twice. Drew maneuvered me so my head was on the pillows, then scooted down my body, dragging my knickers down and tossing them away as he went. Then, without further ado, he parted my thighs.
"Mmm," he said, "your pussy looks good enough to eat."
I forgave him the cheesy line because that's exactly what I wanted him to do.