It's Just Sext (The Right Kind of Wrong)

It’s Just Sext: The Right Kind of Wrong, #1

Copyright 2012 by Felice Fox

Digital Edition

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

The places, characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover design by
Talina Perkins

M. Scribes Press

Printed in the United States of America

Time to figure out who you really love.

Lauren
was expecting a text from Marc, but instead it was her best friend Kate, baiting her at the worst possible moment.

She tossed her phone on
to the bed and continued pacing the hotel room. One moment wanting to make a run for it, block Marc’s number, change her own and never see another text from him again, and the next letting her heart experience in a single, wrenching burst the affection she already felt but wanted to deny. It was crazy, unconventional and, worst of all, unrealistic. She pushed the curtain aside and watched the lights along the port of Long Beach twinkle in the distance.

Kate
’s theory was that Lauren had bought into the carefully crafted vision of herself she had created for Marc via texting—and had actually fallen in love with herself, rather than him. After all, how could she feel love for someone she had never touched, never looked at eye-to-eye, and never actually spoken to?

“He’s two-dimensional,” Kate
had admonished over breakfast that morning. “His generation—“

Lauren
rolled her eyes and slumped back in her seat. “Please, don’t say that word. It makes me sound ancient.”

“You’re ageless, but that doesn’t erase the fact that you grew up in a different technological age
than he did.” Kate pierced a chunk of pineapple and popped it into her mouth, then pointed the empty fork at Lauren. “You’re used to connecting and bonding with others by having deep, multidimensional conversations, face-to-face or by phone. Not by texting. In his generation—
sorry
—connections are forged and maintained with fewer points of
information about the other person. It’s just a fact.”

Lauren
suspected she was right about that, at least. She didn’t want to believe it but it rang true in her heart. There are stages to courting, developing affection, and she and Marc had bypassed every damn one and were tumbling toward the mad and furious fucking stage. Every inch of their bodies and souls would probably catch fire the instant they first touched.

She
sat on a corner of the bed, switched the television on then off again. She could sense his approach, somewhere in the dark, as he made his way to her from across the country, across the city, to this hotel, this room, this space, after months of pure, ridiculous, long-distance lusting via, of all things, text messaging.

She chose
to meet him at a hotel, not let him into her home, her perfectly meted out personal space. She was crazy to let him in at all, but she didn’t know how to protect herself at this point. From a distance she could. Sure. He was just some guy sending her love notes, photos and videos and who, mysteriously, refused to actually speak to her over the phone. But what would she do when he reached her door? Her limbs shook and she had to move. She couldn’t wait in the hotel room for him. Maybe if she met him in the lobby or on the street she could maintain some distance, a safe space between them for a little while longer. Give her time to think, settle into the idea of him being…real. Plus, from the lobby she could still run.

This had been
her problem all along. She could not stay still when it came to him. He did something to her—his eyes, his lips, the way he touched himself and showed her everything without holding back. They all conspired to plough her under—make her lose her footing and stumble onto her own hand, rubbing almost incessantly to soothe, over and over again, her constant state of arousal. She was like a trained pet—one look at him and her little cunt was overheated and begging. Her own sense of propriety kept her from giving in and telling him what she wanted, what she would do to him given the chance. But he knew well enough. That was why he was almost here, after all.

He
had sent her photo after naked photo of himself, and each time she found herself wanting a little more. It had been going on for months, since they discovered each other’s profiles online. She lived in Santa Monica and he worked on cruise ships. Marc spent his months circling the globe from one port to the next—though never anywhere near hers. Until now.

She
imagined herself on her knees, taking him in, feeling the press of his hands behind her head, forceful, adamant, fingers twisted in her hair while he fucked her mouth. She would grasp the backs of his strong thighs and arch her back to look up at him whenever he let up on her, catching his beautiful stare, his lips slack, shiny, and bitten red. He was so bad, so very bad for her. Wasn’t he?

If
she stayed in the hotel room it would certainly happen the moment he came through the door. It would shut behind him, the soft click echoing in her head—a sound she would never forget. She would fumble a moment or two then fall to her knees and pray he came forward, unzipping his pants—pulling out his cock—the one she knew every inch of from photos and video. His shaft would be flushed red from his balls to just below his cockhead then paler toward the tip; rounded folds she wanted to rub gently between her teeth. Her mouth watering, she would feel the press of his thick head over her lips. They would hold each other’s gaze, staring green eyes to blue as he pushed it in slow and deep—and this would be their greeting. No sweet, soft kisses—just his cock filling her mouth to the back of her throat. Her snuffling, suckling, trying to breathe. She couldn’t bear it after so many months of longing. She had wanted men before, but never like this.
I think I must love his cock as much as he does
. Lauren licked her lips. It had taken time to accept that truth, but she did—eventually.

She
jabbed the elevator button several times and finally the damn thing showed up. A second before the doors slid open she had the terrifying feeling he would be inside and think she was trying to get away. Her heart was in her mouth when the doors opened on an empty elevator, and she let out a deep, agonizing breath. She was alone.
Still
. She stepped in. When the doors closed she felt the temporary comfort of being held apart, momentarily unreachable by Marc or anyone else.

He wasn’t in the lobby
. She skirted towering potted palm trees, checked the reception area and shot a longing look at the nearby bar. A man, huddled over his drink, glanced back at her with the slow, lecherous gaze of someone who thinks he definitely might get some.
Not from me.
She turned away with a scowl. Too bad. She really could have used a drink.

Lauren shifted awkwardly. She
was about to head outside when she felt the warmth of a body close behind her.

“Hi, bab
e.” She did not turn, could not move. A shiver went up her back as the voice settled over her, shockingly familiar. She had only heard it once in a video, repeating her name while he stroked himself. She felt him press closer, nuzzling into her hair. “I’m nervous too,” he said.

Her
heart thudded in her chest and she turned slowly into the warmth of his arms. Agonizingly, she raised her eyes to meet his and her knees gave way. His arms tightened around her and she laughed. They both looked down, into the strange and empty space between their bodies, and their foreheads touched. She relaxed into him. He pressed a kiss to her head and, finally, she looked directly into his eyes without needing to look away. His hair was darker than she expected, cropped short and sticking up in sexy, rumpled peaks. He was a few inches taller than her—a perfect fit. Heat crept up her front and everywhere their bodies now touched. Her nipples were puckered and so sensitive she pulled slightly away. She was completely, utterly drenched between her legs.

He cradled
her face in his hands, laced his fingers into her hair and kissed her sweetly. It was the gentlest, softest kiss she had ever felt, and completely ironic given all of the rough sex she had imagined having with him over the past few months. The thought made her laugh a little, and as if reading her mind, he leaned in and whispered into her ear, “These are some sweet kisses, but make no mistake. I’m going to fuck you really hard.” She nodded and grinned. “That’s my girl. Come on, I think we both need a drink.”

Lauren
wondered if he would get carded as he took her hand and led her to the bar. He looked young and even younger standing next to her. The pervert who had raked his eyes over her before, now stared ahead and snickered. Marc pretended to body-check the man behind his back, making her wonder how long he had been watching her in the lobby before he approached.

They
kept walking beyond the end of the bar to sit at a cozy, dark table by the fireplace. Their eyes were locked on each other, their hands clasped, rubbing together gently. Was he still nervous to talk to her? Not that she ever believed he really was. There was some secret he wasn’t willing to share, and she had long since given up trying to force him to talk on the phone or tell her why he wouldn’t.

Lauren’s
phone vibrated. She glanced at it anxiously and saw it was from Kate. If she didn’t reply immediately, no doubt Kate would drive over to check on her.

Is he talking to
u?

Very funny.
Of course he is,
she replied quickly.

Assume nothing. Be safe.
Txt me a pic of his ID if u can.

“None of this is real,” Kate
had admonished when Lauren first admitted to flirting with a stranger over text. They had met for coffee and, as usual, Kate was being a little too loud. “He won’t even talk to you, for fuck’s sake! He’s a boy toy. Have your fun but, seriously, do not get attached.”

“I don’t know how you do
it,” Lauren had replied. “And keep your voice down, will you?” Kate had always been the promiscuous one, not her. She could go from fling to fling and not seem to care.

“
You’ve always been the relationship type, L. If you’re going to play around like this you’ll have to change your thinking. Do it for the short-term rush, not a long-term relationship. Look, it’s cool that he’s younger than you. Lust is lust. But never try to fix a broken boy toy. If it malfunctions in any way you replace it. Got it?”

The fact that
Marc refused to talk to her over the phone could certainly be considered a malfunction by Kate’s standards, but Lauren wasn’t willing to end it. In her mind, she got new batteries, fiddled around, tried to make a few adjustments in her thinking and eventually resolved to play with the toy ‘as is’. She fought every instinct to try to make this into some real life romance—something it could never be. She reminded herself to just appreciate the primal lure of another sexually charged hardbody and have fun. They each had a second, secret life away from what they gave to each other over text messaging. She couldn’t begrudge him his, since she had one of her own. She had just…gotten used to it. It was their way. The question was, what would they do with it now? Would this meeting blur the line, erase or solidify it?

The
waitress came and went and returned again with their drinks, all without Lauren noticing. Marc licked his lips and blew her a kiss before taking a sip of his beer, and she squeezed her legs together. He smiled, the sweet, boyish smile she loved from his pictures, and blushed a little, shaking his head before taking another long swig.