Beguiling (Tempting #2) (10 page)

W
hen I walked
through the kitchen before going upstairs, my mom asked me what was so funny. For a brief moment, I imagined what the look on her face would be if I told her that I was smiling because Santa had come early for me. With the best present I never knew I wanted.

Scarlet Jennings had an inner sex kitten that needed to be unleashed, and I’d be the best fucking pussy tamer she’d ever find. Instead, I distracted my mom by telling her she looked nice, which she always did and jogged up the steps to my bedroom.

I turned on the TV after I walked in and flipped through the guide until I found Sports Center, but muted it when I laid back in the black leather recliner in the corner of my room.

My conversation with Scarlet played on a loop in my head. The way her cheeks turned bright-ass red, her embarrassment a palpable thing in the room. But more than that, the other thing I couldn’t move past was the moment when I’d made her laugh, the way we’d talked easily. Not yelling, no name calling, no rampant antagonism.  

Maybe her Kama Sutra bucket list was the key to world peace. At least in the world of Scarlet and Leo.

With the television still on mute, I pulled my phone out, scrolling until I pulled up a text message to her. The last exchange we’d had was the night we went out. It had taken her somewhere around four hours to decide that my idea had been a good one. Scarlet probably always needed that kind of time to process something that had been thrown at her unexpectedly.

And what I’d just offered her was more than likely the equivalent of a nuclear bomb in her mind. With a grin, I started typing something out. This,
this
I could offer her. Not help with her homework, or an emotional bedrock to weather life’s storms. But I could help her check off every damn item on that pathetic little list. Everyone should do that shit. By the time the summer was over, she’d be like Scarlet 2.0, a fun, relaxed, non-harpy version of the girl from a couple weeks ago at her staid graduation party.

After it said the text was delivered, I grinned and put my phone away, fully expecting her to send some token protest.
Gross, Leo. Quit talking to me, perv.
Or,
I’ll get a restraining order tomorrow.
She should be happy though because it was one hundred percent, unadulterated truth. My phone vibrated on the end table next to me, and my face spread in a smile imagining what her response might be. The smile dropped pretty damn quick though.

I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it. The sheer audacity of this girl floored me. It was like she wanted me to never leave her alone, to keep this game going as long as we could both stand it.

I licked along my bottom lip, closing my eyes when I tipped my head back. My sexting game may not have been up-to-date, but one thing I could do was dirty talk with the best of ‘em.

I’d started typing something else, then backed up, wanting to see what she’d do. Damn it. I had a semi already, thinking about the way her hips had circled my mouth, when she’d shamelessly fucked my face.

The little bouncing dots, the ones that told me she was typing, kept starting and stopping, she’d delete and then type something else. You’d think it would dampen the sexy images I had going on in my head, right? Not exactly.

What happened instead was a vivid mental picture of Scarlet, sitting in the dark, quiet house and biting down on her lip with bright red cheeks. Maybe she’d be playing with the hem of her shirt while she decided how to answer. Maybe she was dragging a thumb across her collarbone.

The fact was that either of those things made me harder, so that my dick was pressing against my zipper. Taking my palm, I ran it slowly against the front of my jeans, seeking the tiniest bit of relief from this fucking affliction that she’d cursed me with.  

Her simple honesty made my hand halt its movement. I couldn’t fathom it, feeling an insecurity in my own skin to the point that I was unsure as to how to make myself feel pleasure. I’d had that particular skill since I was like … twelve.

With that
yes
, Scarlet sealed her fate this summer, even if she didn’t know it. This was something I could do for her. But in order for her to open herself up to it, she’d have to know, without a sliver of doubt, that she could trust me with this.

I took a deep breath and unhooked my belt buckle, pulled the zipper down and eased my hips lower in my chair so I could lift the edge of my cotton t-shirt and slide my hand down against the skin of my abs. When I’d gripped my cock with a tight fist, I moved it so that it pushed out of the confines of my gray boxers and then lifted my phone up with my other hand.

This was probably so fucking stupid. I’d never sent a dick pic to anyone in my life. Now I was going to Scarlet Jennings’ phone? I moved my fist up so that only the swollen head showed through my hand, and the base was visible on the other side.

The click of the camera echoed. I mean, was I supposed to crop it? Put a filter on this bitch? Maybe put it in black and white so it looked more artsy fartsy?

“Dude, grow a pair,” I muttered to myself and added the picture to our message thread, then hit send.

I stroked myself a few times, taking deep and even breaths through my nose while I thought of her, imagined what I’d do the next time I could get my hands on her.

I grinned, making slow, tight circles with my fist.

Leo:
Your nipples. I only got a small taste the other night. But it wasn’t enough. Do you know why?

Scarlet:
… Am I supposed to guess? Or was that rhetorical?

The bark of laughter bounced around my room, and I couldn’t help but shake my head. As much as I wanted to tease her about that, if I broke the mood now, the whole thing would be ruined.

I groaned, tugging harder. “No, not stupid. So fucking perfect,” I said like she could hear me. I was close, which felt ridiculous, considering she hadn’t given me much to work with. But the thought of her offering to help me tightened my skin all over my body. Heat burned through my spine, my hips arching up so I could fuck my own hand.

The muscles in my forearm burned, the head of my cock was angry and red, the air sawed in and out of my lungs with rough bursts. My eyes pinched shut so hard that I saw white spots. But it was the image of her sitting on my lap when I came from her hands that finally made me come with a low groan.

While I caught my breath, I lifted my phone again, aiming it down at my stomach, lightly grabbing my still semi-hard dick so only the top showed. I cropped it so my chin wasn’t showing, and all you could see was my hand gripping my cock, and the lashes of cum on my skin. I sent it to her.  

I didn’t expect a titty shot or anything, but I laughed when she attached a close-up shot of her hand holding a pen and drawing a line through number fourteen on the list: sext with someone. I shook my head, grabbing a tissue from the box on the floor next to my bed.

Once I was cleaned up and had pulled my pants back up, I sent her another one.

With that, I silenced my phone and stripped down to my boxers so I could go to bed. And wouldn’t you fucking know it, I drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face.

W
hen Sunday passed
without a word from Scarlet and she greeted me on Monday with a polite smile and the facial expression of a corpse, I knew we’d officially taken a few steps back. Part of me wanted to be like, “okay, maybe the dick pic was too much.” But then again, she should be thanking me. I just gave her all the ammo necessary for her to Brett Favre me after I made it into the NFL.

On the ride home Monday, I kinda thought she’d have thawed a little, but nary a word was spoken – not until I started walking down her driveway to go back home and she called out to me.

“I have to leave a couple minutes earlier tomorrow. Is that okay?”

I nodded wordlessly, and she gave me a tight smile and walked away. I stared after her until the door into her house shut behind her.

By the time Tuesday came, and I was waiting for her next to her car before she ever walked outside, I knew I’d underestimated her. Maybe I’d even overestimated myself, on what that night together and the texting the following night had done to her. For some reason, her memory of Friday night was synonymous with good feelings or warm fuzzies or whatever the fuck you wanted to call it.

It was probably arrogance on my part to assume that, that all she needed to do was remember that it happened, and she would what? Be begging to do it again?

By the time those thoughts were unfurling in my head, she was heading toward the car, and stopped short when she saw me waiting for her. The shock blanketing her face was enough to mute me on the car ride to school.

Scarlet was the kind of girl who equated physical intimacy with … I don’t know, feelings. With trust and respect.

I physically shuddered. Not out of terror or anything, but because I felt so fucking lost. After these last couple of weeks, no matter what I’d said to her or shared with her, Scarlet still probably expected very little from me.

And to her, a few orgasms ranked low on her list of priorities. But that was probably the only thing she thought I could give to her. That chafed, considering that I’d been idiot enough to share shit with her that no one else knew.

I mumbled a goodbye to her when she pulled the car in front of the field, but my abrupt manner didn’t seem to bother her. She’d sat stiffly next to me the whole ride, yesterday too, so she may have not even noticed that I was stuck inside my own head.

Believe me, it wasn’t a place that I got trapped often.

Cameron and Denard were tossing a ball to each other, zig zagging across the grass before tossing it back.

D faked a pass to Cameron, then pivoted toward me, pitching the ball at me. I caught it with an oomph.    

“Thanks, dick.”

I tossed my backpack on the field behind me, and told him to run a fade route. D took off like a shot, Cameron sprinting after him to act as the corner back. They shoved at each other after about fifteen yards, then D veered to the left, getting a few feet of separation from Cam. I danced back a few steps and heaved the ball into the air, whooping when the tight spiral sailed right over Cameron and dropped into D’s outstretched hands about thirty yards down the field.

They jogged back toward me, Cameron elbowing Denard when D tried to trip him.

“There was some heat on the ball, man,” D said, tossing the ball at me. “You want to run a few more of those?”

I pushed up on my tip toes, bouncing on the balls of my feet a little and then stretched my left arm across my chest. “Nah, it’s fine.”

“Cheapest therapy around.” His dark brown, almost black eyes watched me carefully. Of all the guys on our team, Denard was the most weirdly intuitive. He had six older sisters—they were raised by a single mother after his dad died in a car accident—so he always joked that the estrogen level from his childhood rewired his brain a little bit.

He’d had the same girlfriend since the age of sixteen, so anyone who needed relationship or girl advice ended up talking to him about it.

“Who says I need therapy?” I walked past both of them, shouldering Cam hard and laughing when he cursed.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it,” D said easily, keeping pace with me. “Just noticed you’ve been a little quiet.”

“Oh fuck,” I muttered. “Here we go.”

“You dating someone?”

“D, seriously.”

Leaning down to grab my left ankle, I stretched out one side of my leg and then the other, praying to all things holy that he would fucking drop it. But then it kinda pissed me off that I was even in this situation in the first place.

“I just don’t even know why it’s so fucking hard with women,” I said in a rush, not making eye contact with D and hoping that Cameron had wandered off because he saw something shiny. “I mean; we all enjoy ourselves in bed. We have to fuck it up with stupid games and second guessing and complications. It’s fucking stupid.”

My breath left my lungs in a rush, and D straightened up to his impressive six-six height, folding his muscled biceps and meeting me straight on.

“So you like a girl,” Cameron crowed from behind me.

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t like her. I want to fuck her. Don’t read into it.”

Wanted to fuck her again, technically. And so much more than that, but there was no damn way I’d be admitting that to those two, especially Cameron.

“If that’s all it is, why does it piss you off so much? Just find someone else,” D said.

“I’m not pissed off,” I yelled in a voice that sounded like I was pissed off. “It’s just dumb.”

“Getting defensive,” Cameron mused, tapping a finger against his chin. “Yup, yup. The signs are all there, D.”

I tried to laugh, but it sounded tight and uncomfortable. “What the hell ever, douchebags. Just go run your sprints. I can deal with my chick problems on my own.”

Cameron ran down the field to where Coach was barking orders. D waited though, his hands propped on his hips.

“Oh God, what?”

“Say all you want, Madsen. If it’s
more
with whoever she is, that’s okay. But if you have to talk about her behind her back in a way that you wouldn’t talk to her face? Don’t be that guy.” He gestured behind us to the groups of guys on the field, doing various workouts under the hot June sun. “You think I give a shit whether they call me pussy whipped?”

“No, because Tasha is fucking awesome.”

He laughed, his white teeth practically blinding against his dark skin. “I know, man. She really is. But if it’s something? Don’t downplay it, I don’t care who you’re talking to. Because if you’re downplaying it to people, whether they matter in your life or not, then why would she think
she
matters to you?”

Then he slugged me in the shoulder and ran off, his advice curling around my scattered head. As much as I wanted to shrug it off as the ramblings of a kept man, D was right. I was so pissed off this morning by the fact that Scarlet clearly didn’t expect anything more from me than something under the heading of
wham, bam, thank you, ma’am
.

And why should she? I’d done nothing to persuade her otherwise. And maybe I didn’t want to shuffle too closely to saying she
mattered
to me, but I couldn’t deny that in a short window of time, her opinion of me was starting to carry weight, to be of some consequence in my mind.

The six-week window of her parents being gone felt like one of those sand-filled hourglass thingies, the perfect opportunity to accomplish something with her. Every day another grain slipped through, and I’d wasted two of them, not texting her or calling her, or even attempting a polite conversation with her in the car.

Because I was a giant asshole, apparently.

“Fuck,” I whispered under my breath, kicking the toe of my shoe at the bright green grass under my feet. I had to do something to show her. I pulled my phone out, doing a quick Google Maps search. My afternoon and evening were open, like most of them were in the summer after workouts and class. Now all I had to do was wait until she picked me up and pray that she didn’t feel like killing me.

F
ive hours later
, she was waiting for me, which probably didn’t help my cause. But when I rapped a knuckle on the driver’s side window, she didn’t immediately give me the death look, where she narrowed her eyes and twisted her mouth up, so that was good.

Very, very slowly, her window rolled down. “What?”

“Get out.”

Her brows caved in a little bit toward her eyes. “Huh?”

“I’m driving.” Then I pointed from myself to her car, in case we needed a game of charades to help her along.

“Why would I let you drive?”

“Because you don’t know where we’re going next.”

“I,” she stopped, looking down at the steering wheel like it may clear up her confusion, “wait, what?”

“I’d like to drive,” I said slowly. “Because I’m taking you somewhere.”

Her mouth popped into an ‘o’ shape, surprise making her face flush a pretty shade of pink. When she reached up to tuck a nonexistent strand of fiery hair behind one ear, I almost crowed in triumph, because I’d all but won. Then she pulled in a deep breath and reached down to unbuckle her seat belt.

Like the fucking gentleman I was, I opened her car door so she could get out. There was a brief moment of deja vu from Friday night, when I’d opened the door for her in her driveway.

“You’re not going to tell me?” she asked quietly, eyes darting past me, like she was checking to see if anyone was around. Since this morning, she’d pulled her hair up into a ponytail that sat high up on her head. Not a single strand of hair fell around her face, so all I could see was her clean, pale skin and big, brown eyes. Yeah, I think I could admit she mattered now, standing where I was.

I just shook my head, not really able to speak in the wake of that revelation. Scarlet skirted past me and practically skipped to the other side of the car. Before she opened up the passenger door to get in, I caught a glimpse of her face. Her lips were curved in this tiny little smile that made my heart pinch. Scarlet looked excited. And happy.

And I’d done that for her.

We got settled, and since I was driving, she let me pick the music.

“So,” I asked her after I’d flipped it to WFNX, “how was class?”

It almost made me laugh, the expression on her face. “It was fine,” she answered cautiously. “Umm, how was practice?”

“Not practice,” I corrected after merging onto I-90. “Summer workouts. We have to take classes all year round, so we work out in the mornings for two to three hours, then have class. Practice doesn’t start until August.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

I glanced over at her, checking to see if she was making fun, but she wasn’t. Her eyes were trained on my face, expression open and friendly. With a nod, I looked back at the road.

“So, on your list,” I said after a few minutes of quiet. “How long of a car ride constitutes a road trip?”

Scarlet let out a soft laugh, which made me smile. “Well, I guess I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Shocking.”

When she didn’t answer right away, I expected some tossed-out insult about how my brain probably didn’t function past when my next meal and my next lay would come from, but when I looked over at her I could tell she was thinking.

“I guess a road trip would count as somewhere I haven’t been before,” then she glanced down at the console and her water bottle. “And where we have to make at least one stop on the way, either for food or to use a restroom.”

“A fair definition.” This little jaunt may or may not work, but I wasn’t going to force the issue.

We drove for another twenty or so minutes, making intermittent conversation, when she looked over at me. “Hey, Leo?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you mind taking this next exit? I didn’t really grab any lunch, and you haven’t exactly told me how much longer we’ll be driving.”

I smiled over at her, feeling a warmth settle in my chest at the idea that she wanted this to be another list item just as much as I did. “We’ve got a solid hour to go. You sure you want to stop already?”

The wheels were turning in her head, I could tell. She pulled up her phone, and did some typing on the screen. Then she squealed, doing a little jumping dance in her seat that made me laugh.

“Are you
serious
?”

“Well, how can I answer if I have no idea what you’re looking at?”

“Six Flags? Are you taking me to ride a roller coaster?” Her voice was breathless and a little choppy from excitement and nerves, and without thinking, I reached over to grab the top of her thigh. I felt her stiffen slightly under my hand, but she didn’t say anything. So instead of pressing my luck, I squeezed, not letting my fingers brush against her soft skin like I wanted to.

“You’re not going to chicken out, are you? Because we’re not going to ride the kiddy ones.”

When she swallowed noisily and sank into her seat, I laughed again. Scarlet was quiet for a few minutes before shifting to face me.

“If I die on a roller coaster, you should know now that this is really nice, Leo. Thank you.”

The praise fell from her mouth easily, probably because she had no clue what it meant to me. It sharpened everything in the car; the way she smelled and the happy brightness in her face, the way the curve of the steering wheel was slightly cracked underneath my palm.

My first instinct was to brush it off or crack a joke, like I was only doing it because I didn’t want her to post my dick pic to Facebook or something, but I swallowed that and smiled over at her instead.

“You’re welcome, Scarlet.”

In response, she let out a contented sigh, and stared out the windshield, practically vibrating with happiness.

“
I
can’t do this
.”

“Yes you can. This is the easiest part.”

But she wasn’t budging. Very carefully, I grabbed her shoulders from where I stood behind her and tried to urge her forward.

“No freaking way,” she stated and planted her feet on the asphalt.

When I laughed, she whipped around and punched me in the stomach.

“Seriously, with the hitting?” I rubbed at my stomach where I’d probably have bruises in the shape of Scarlet’s knuckles. Then I sighed and attempted a different approach. “Scarlet, it’s not like I’m making you do this alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”